Honeymoon how do you do?

Honeymoon

 

https://www.google.com/search?q=LucasMHaley.honeyluna@blogger.com

 

 

 

lucashaley

 

hi Honeymoon

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Honeymoon

 

 

 

https://goo.gl/wsjH5b

 

 

lucashaley

 

salutations Honeymoon https://goo.gl/yDDq6p lucashaley

Homeward bound

When traveling to a new place, you look at the map and it's a great mystery. It is filled with foreign sounding place names, and borders with unknown countries. Then slowly, once you're there, the map comes to life. The strange sounding pronunciations become familiar. The distance from one location to another grows or shrinks depending on the quality of the road and the geography in between. Vague impressions of a culture are clarified or dispelled, replaced with something more intimate.

It's crossed our minds to keep on going. The mysterious map of South America is only a boat ride away. Just like it was hard to imagine what it would be like to be traveling before we left, it's now hard to imagine being home.

But Portland, Oregon draws us back to our lives-- to our house, friends, family, garden, work and the Pacific Northwest woods. We're so lucky to have such a great place to come back to. Even if it's raining.

Things we'll miss about Central America

The Buses (painted, with boat horns, bus callers, bus vendors)
Rice and beans for breakfast
Having to speak Spanish
Chikyblak
Furniture that swings
Coke with real sugar
Fresh tortillas
Monkeys
Being off the map
The old men
Tropical fruit
People who like to repeat Lucas' name
Fishing for dinner
Heat
Chaos
New currencies
Latino radio
Casada
People from Holland
Moon like a smile
Dollar beer in a bottle
Learning people's stories
Unregulated modes of transport
Being out of touch with the world
Help from random strangers
Not knowing what we're in for
Spending so much time together

Comarca de Kuna

Our small wooden boat reeled in the five foot swells, slamming down time after time as we motored against the wind. We were soaked through -- cold to the bone, eyes stinging from the salt water, and only one hour into the trip. Maybe we were hunting some gargantuan beast of the depths -- but if we were, the two Israeli girls screaming behind us were going to be of no help; maybe we were sole survivors from a sinking ship, in which case those same girls were going overboard the minute we needed to start rationing water. I looked over at Jina as she continued to bail water. What a way to finish the honeymoon.

The Kuna are an indigenous people, living on several hundred small islands on the Northeast coast of Panama. They settled there only about four hundred years ago, but have completely staved off any colonization or westernization since then, maintaining their own government and regional control separate yet part of Panama as a whole. Theirs is a matriarchal society; when a girl comes of age, she receives her real name in a great ceremony (until then she is known only by a nickname). Then, when she marries, her hair is cut short and wears the traditional septum ring and face painting. And while the men have, on the whole, assumed western-style clothes, the women still wear traditional "monas" and complex beadwork along their arms and legs.

With only a handful of days left of our honeymoon, we decided to visit the Kuna, not only to learn more about this unique culture, but also to enjoy their pristine paradise islands and relax on the beach. A river-fjording jeep trip and a harrowing boat ride later, and we arrived cold and wet at Pelican Island, our home for the next four days. And while the weather careened wildly from sudden squalls to tropical sun, the pace of being stuck on an island the size of four tennis courts suited us just fine. We lounged in the hammock, went snorkeling, read books, and became wonderfully bored. The same stormy weather we faced on the way out had stymied any supply boat from setting out from the mainland, so while water was running out, we still enjoyed our meals of rice and whatever the cook could find. Jina, channeling her Madagascar days, caught a good-sized fish and found two spiny lobsters, which fed everyone on the island.

After a much more pleasant trip home, we're now back in Panama City, refreshed and a little sunburnt.

Panama! (a la Van Halen)

A good rule of thumb for us--eat where the old men are eating. Subtle changes in the various proportions of beans, rice, eggs and plantain have marked our passage through Central America. Gone now are the beans for breakfast, and the thin tortillas ubiquitous in Guatemala have slowly morphed into thick fried cornmeal cakes. Meat and empanadas take center stage in Panama and reminds me that we're closer now to South America than North America. This is in many ways the end of the road. The jungle closes over the Pan-American highway, and all travel to Columbia goes around, by air and by sea.


After two 7 hour bus trips with New Year's and the border in between, we've landed in Panama City. Specifically to the Casco Viejo neighborhood. I've never seen anything like this place. When the original city (Panama Viejo) was sacked by the pirate John Morgan, Panama city was rebuilt at Casco Viejo in 1694. The city was fortified with a wall and is surrounded on three sides by water. When the Panama Canal was started in 1904 all the city existed in Casco Viejo, and then expanded from there. Casco Viejo was somewhat abandoned and then bombed in 1989 by the US. This is all to say that the town now is a Mad-max like world of derelict 300 year old buildings. Trees grow out of the old wall and ruins. And what seems like a ruin may actually be occupied. A few of the buildings are restored and the contrast is striking.

A couple in El Salvador who were sailing down the coast told us that every boat going through the Panama Canal needs 4 people to handle the lines and keep the boat steady through the locks. We learned that you can volunteer to 'line-handle' by putting your name on the message board at the old Balboa Yacht Club in Panama City. A pipe dream, maybe, but we tossed our names into the hat. Regardless of what comes through, we're headed to the indigenous owned San Blas islands for our final days of our trip.

Washing machines are heavy

Nothing curbs the consumer urge more than having to carry all your belongings on your back.

Feliz Año Nuevo!

Happy new year from Panamá!

Rest Ice Compression and Elevation

A pair of good legs. I was missing mine for a few days, but with some determined R.I.C.E. application, they're coming back to me. We were glad to stay, both for the healing power of rest, and the opportunity to get to know the area a little better.

We attended the Quaker meeting for worship this morning, meeting some of the founders of the town. It's been since high school since I sat in silence with others for an hour and meditated on life. And Lucas' first Quaker meeting for worship. A local man was moved to stand up and said that he had been thinking of the quote lately "Life expands or contracts in direct proportion to your courage". The hour seemed to pass in just a few minutes, while we were both lost in thought.

A few nights ago, a fellow traveler at the hostel told me about a strangler fig tree nearby that you could climb up into. Strangler fig trees surround large live trees, kill them slowly, and the original tree eventually dies, leaving a twisted hollow shell. Though dastardly, so many animals and plants then rely on the hollow tree, full of crevices, that it almost evens out. The traveler drew us a map with landmarks like "take a right at the pile of logs where the trail begins". We followed it and found a large strangler fig that had enough hand and foot holds you could get high up inside the tree, to the forest canopy. It was amazing to sit and watch the forest from up high, the tree rocking slowly in the wind.

We've reached a traveling groove by now--washing clothes in the sink, keeping each other healthy, finding our way to new places, and meeting other travelers and locals from far flung parts the world. Tomorrow we head out to the capital San Jose, hoping to catch transport to Panama for the new year across the border.

A Coati Christmas

Our first taste of Costa Rica was in a small town called Cañas, a truck-stop town right on the Interamericana. The sun was setting quickly, and we found a little hotel that wasn't too expensive. The manager told us of some serious tragedies in his life, but all the while spraying himself liberally with either hairspray or deodorant, we couldn't tell. He was a great help in finding the right combination of buses into the highlands, to the cloud-forest town of Santa Elena/Monteverde.

Monteverde is a community originally founded by American Quakers in the 50's, who moved to Costa Rica to avoid having to disobey their tenet of non-violence in being drafted into the Korean war. When they first arrived, they turned the top of the mountain into a natural preserve, helping to protect two distinct ecosystems on either side of the continental divide. They also unwittingly created a tourism mecca, originally reported by National Geographic. The Quakers have been fighting the development of a paved road into town from the highway in order to curb the tide of tourists. The town still feels small as a result.

Knowing we would be in town for Christmas night, we found a small hostel away from Santa Elena, right on the edge of the forest with a view of distant Lake Arenal. The room was simple (though graced with an awesome lion bedspread), but the real draw for us was being able to wake up on Christmas morning and hike into the rainforest from our front step. But I'm getting ahead of myself -- clearly, the first priority was a nap. Upon waking, we noticed about 30 people gathering around for a guided night hike. We took the opportunity, and it was worth it. A family of Coatis, a tarantula, sleeping porcupines, sleeping birds (they just sleep on a branch... weird), and a climbing sloth were highlights of the tour; but we also learned a lot about the ecology of the rainforest and surrounding area.

Christmas night was windy, the stars were out, and we had a bottle of wine. Lovely.

The next day started lazily, and we headed out into the forest to see what it looked like during the day. The sleeping porcupine was still asleep in the hollow of the Strangler Fig tree, but the tarantula had left its little hole. We couldn't find a sleeping sloth. Things turned a little south when along the path Jina twisted her ankle pretty badly. Back to the hotel we got some ice on it, but we both knew she wouldn't be able to use it for the next couple of days. So we're at a hostel closer to town, taking it easy until Jina's ankle is doing better.

Ometepe fantasy island

From Leon, we caught the slow bus for Granada and spent the morning taking in the walking boulevards lined with cafes.


From there, the bus slowly filled to capacity, as it has to before leaving, and we headed south two hours to the ferry terminal. It was almost dusk and the last transport barge was just about to leave. We threw our bags on board the crowded vessel and climbed up to the deck. They took our names, ages and nationality down on paper before departing, and when I asked if it was in case the barge sinks, I just got a smile. The wind comes across the lake with such force, it whips the water into ocean-like swells. And it felt like we were on the ocean as we heaved up and down, enjoying the bizarre sunset ride on the barge, crossing the largest lake in Central America, with the island's two volcanoes looming large in the distance.

Isla de Ometepe was one of the few places we had pre-planned on visiting on our trip. So it was somewhat surreal to actually be there. That, and the fantasy-like feel of an island where fresh water sharks prowl the surrounding waters, transport is still largely horse and cow, drinks are readily made from tapping a variety of tropical trees, petrogyphs of wildlife are carved on lava rock, and everywhere you go on the island the active volcano Conception is there.

The pace is slower, and the people as genuine as it gets. Adelma, a sassy female taxi truck driver, and I traded simple jokes and we had to stop for an hour on the dirt road as they put up a new power pole. We stayed on the north side of the volcano Maderas and in the morning, climbed it. A long muddy slog for Lucas and I but a beautiful hike through a cloud forest with a crater lake at the top. We got to know Fausto, our 21 year-old guide, and helped him with learning English ("mud!", "watch your head!") in turn learning about life on the island. The hostel where we stayed was so peaceful that we considered staying through Christmas. But decided, instead, to spend the holiday somewhere less hot.

When we left the island by ferry, we still had no idea how we were going to get to Costa Rica. Everyone so far had told us the border was full and there was no more room on buses crossing over. Some stroke of luck was with us, as two spots were available on a bus headed south, not 20 min after we got off the boat. We aimed for a town halfway to the mountains, that we should be able to get to by sunset.

context

The cover of the paper when we arrived in Nicaragua was "Election Sham!". Rioting blanketed the country a few weeks previously, after the Sandinista party, and Ortega, dumped votes in the trash. A recount looks unlikely. Ortega seems to be consolidating power and from the general opinions of people we talked with it's to the demise of the country. Lucas and I were in grade/high school at the time of the Iran/Contra scandal, televised Ollie North hearings, FLMN guerrillas in El Salvador, disappearances in Guatemala, and Ben Linder assassination (an Oregonian volunteer in Nicaragua at the time-- killed by the US backed Contras) but are just now learning about the full history.

If Leon, Nicaragua is the liberal seat of the country, its conservative arch-rival is Granada. These two cities warred for centuries before the capital was created in Managua, splitting the difference. This trip has been an education for us-- lessons in the brutal wars that occurred in each of the countries we've visited, the reasons behind them, and which side the US armed and trained. Being an American traveling in Central America is a humbling experience both for the part our government played in the lives of the people we meet and our ignorance about the details.

feliz navidad!

Merry Christmas from Costa Rica!!

Inordinate Sweating

The day we arrived in Léon I started feeling a bit off, and by the next afternoon I was running a high temperature. I don´t remember large parts of the next couple of days after that. Jina not only took excellent care of me, keeping me hydrated and cool, she also found a clinic around the corner and walked me over. I had some tests taken, and the two hour wait for the results was quite nerve-wracking. It was a bit worrying when the doctor started asking us about mosquitoes in our hotel room, but in the end the diagnosis was a throat infection. I feel much better now, after four days, but I can´t stop sweating.

The experience has been strange for both of us -- for me, being in a fever haze for several days, and for Jina not knowing what was going on with my health, and not being able to leave the hotel for long periods in case something happened. It was like we were on separate vacations for a couple of days, except that both vacations were harrowing. Today was the first day I´ve felt well enough to leave the hotel, or even have a conversation, and it feels good. I shaved, and got a haircut down the street from an old Nica gent named Frank. He cuts hair either with the most confidence or the least care I´ve ever seen -- hacking off large clumps of hair at great speed, and mumbling in Spanish. After three days of illness, I feel like a new man. Though not a bad place to be grounded for a while, tomorrow we finally leave town for the twin volcano island called Ometepe.

Across the borders

Five chicken buses and three currencies later, we´ve made it to Leon! What a great town. At dusk, locals pull their rocking chairs out onto the sidewalk and rock the night in. Border crossings are always a little hectic. There´s this frantic moment when the bus pulls in and we´re decended upon by money-changers and pedicabs. We´ve taken to politely declining and taking a breather while the melee settles out. An exciting day--taking in the subtle differences in landscape and culture between El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua.

Lighted Christmas trees are in evidence in every open door, but it seems so distant here with the blazing sun that beats us into submission every afternoon. The santa hats help.

Pupusas

I think we've passed into the street food phase of the trip. Our last night in El Tunco, we sat out under the stars and strings of bare light bulbs, enjoying a feast of pupusas. These fried patties are made from masa, stuffed with various ingredients such as cheese and beans. When they're fried, cheese oozes out and gets crispy. The pupusas are served with a kind of cabbage salad that took me about a week to find out the secret ingredients for: pinapple vinegar and oregano. Can't wait to make them at home!

The City of Children

Lucas and I packed up, put our traveling shoes on and waited for a bus by the roadside. A pickup truck swung by and the gringo driving said he'd drive us to La Libertad, where we were headed. On the way, he told us about the intermittent work he does at the nearby orphanage, and how they're always looking for help. And all their computers are busted. We gave it about a second of thought and told him we'd stay and help. So we turned right back around and headed to the orphanage.

The orphanage is run by a charitable Christian organization called REMAR. There are 95 children there, ages 6 months to 18 years. They come from all kinds of situations, but all from homes with abuse, neglect or abandonment. So it was amazing to be greeted by about 40 hugs each when we arrived. The kids all live, work and play together all day. Like having 94 other brothers and sisters. One night when we left, the kids were all singing and hauling dirt for their new school, late into the night. On their beds they put all their stuffed animals, in various patterns, which Lucas could identify with. Stuffed animals, clothing--everything is shared, since it's too hard to keep track of personal belongings. The kids were not shy about sharing their personal stories with us, most of them heartbreaking.

There are only 5 women looking after all the kids and they do an incredible job at keeping all the kids clothed, fed and happy. Incredible job is an understatement. I never saw a raised voice or kids picking on each other in our 4 days there. Instead, we took them to the beach. What a crazy day. They had more fun than seems humanly possible. We made apple crisp from all the green apples they didn't know what to do with, and Lucas played guitar with his Salvadorean younger self, a kid named Jose. We replaced a pot we broke, by navigating the market in San Salvador, and Lucas managed to fix 6 or so computers that had been donated and then poorly treated by their computer teacher.

The organizing principle is a love for God and each other. The city of children is actually the center of REMAR's substance abuse rehabilitation program for adults. Part of the program is that the recovering adults work at the orphanage. Sounds like a crazy idea, but I think the children move them in ways they had never been before. We'd love to continue to support them in the years ahead.

Our second attempt to leave El Tunco was successful. Friends at REMAR dropped us at the bus station in San Salvador and we caught the bus to San Miguel. It's blazing hot here as we prepare to cross two borders tomorrow, into Honduras and then into Nicaragua.

Hanging 10

Our second stop in El Salvador has been the little beach town of El Tunco, where you can walk around barefoot for days. Both a bread and vegetable truck come by every morning, honking their horns and announcing their wares... we´ve been cooking for ourselves, and it´s been great. El Tunco is known for it´s surf, and we tried our hand (feet?) at it -- with help from Bamba and David, a couple of local boyz who give lessons. Apparently, it was pretty high surf that day... Jina got up a few times, I got some good wave time too. But man, that surfing thing is exhausting.

The second to last night we went for a walk, and on the way home Jina heard her name being called... it was a friend of hers from college, Moni. It was a pretty random meeting, so far from Vermont. After Peace Corps, he stuck around El Salvador and started a surfboard company in El Tunco. We shared a beer, toured his shop, and met the second best surfer in El Salvador. Always the second best!



We´re really glad we made this last-minute decision to visit El Salvador. We´d like to visit the part of the country that was in the thick of the revolution, a town called Perquin. With some long travel ahead of us, we´ll see if it´s in the cards.