Adventure Racing

G Day.

I've just noticed that this weblog (or "blog") hasn't been updated since June last year. That's a pretty poor performance and for this I apologise.

So, what's happened since then. Well I've been working away at APA Group, making sure my pipeline is still pumping ethane (it is) and that all other wrok related things are being looked after (they are). Enough about that though. Today I'm going to talk about maxAdventure racing.

Back in August my mate Dan from Manly (Manly Dan or Danly Man depending on your persuasion) suggested we do an adventure race out in the Hawkesbury. 15kms of trail running, 40km mountain biking and 10kms of kayaking. Sure, I said, no problem.

The "training regime" consisted of a few trips around Manly Dam (Manly Dan?) which is a 13km loop up near Manly on the North Shore of Sydney. It's a classic single track loop with some ridiculous drops, turns and outcrops that are just inviting you to share your head with the ground or a cheerful local tree trunk.

Having just purchased my mountain bike in Manly (red and black + shiny = fast) we headed up to the Dam track. I'd never done proper mountain biking before so each drop, turn, rut, and "baby's head" rock was greeted with the kind of fear you get once a year when you accidentaly step out on the road without looking resulting in a hair cut from a protruding bus mirror.

Most of the track is barely handlebar width with trees either side and rocks below. One mistake and you're guaranteed to hit either of the aforementioned hard things. My lack of medical insurance was playing on my mind.

Training session two was in my neck of the woods. A cycle to bondi via Watsons Bay, up and down hills with incredible views of the harbour and city. From Bondi we locked up the bikes and ran to Coogee and back on the cliff top track (standard tourist fare). After that it was off to Rose Bay for an hour of kayaking. Over a beer at the local RSL we decided we were ready for anything.

Our training regime didn't include a two hour 6am bus ride, 45 minutes of running up near vertical rockfaces or swimming fully clothed down fast flowing rivers. This was an elementary mistake on our parts.

The base for the weekend was Wiseman's Ferry. Like most places in Australia it's named after the aboriginal name, the (English) person who first settled there or an obvoius local geographical feature. In this case it was named after a chap called Wiseman who set up a ferry service (get it?). Poor Harald struggled to negociate the steep inclines down to the ferry crossing in the dark. It's wonderfully quaint waiting for the ferry, guided by two chain spans, to chug it's way over to collect you.

We made it to the campsite, set up our gear and sandwiches for the next day and headed to bed, gently serenaded to sleep by our neighbours love of late night techno music.



The race itself was an wonderful experience. We set off on a bus to the starting line with the intention of making our way back to the campsite within the requisite 12 hours. The first 3 hours of the race involved running down a single track trail to the river at the bottom of the valley. After a brief spell in the water itself trying to find the trail we started the long run to the top of the mountain.

There were at least five false summits on the way, each one as heartbreaking as the last. Our quads were destroyed by all the climbing and running whilst carrying full backpacks of water, supplies and a lifejacket. We made it out of the running section after 3 hours to the first major checkpoint where we collected our bikes and reattached our pedals. I should mention at this point that we had struggled to get the pedals off Danly Man's bike the previous night. Accordingly we had troubled getting the damn things back on. Get them on we did and we were on our way. Immediately after starting our biking my water bladder erupted, pouring my entire 2 ltr water supply down my back, through my shorts and on to the dusty ground. This was bad news. I had a safety 500ml bottle and that was it. Only 60kms to go.



As we were coming down the first major down hill on the bikes Dan's pedal came off. This was the beginning of the end of our intention of coming top half of the field. Cycling with one pedal is not a fun thing to do, it requires twisting your affected foot in a painful and repetative way. Not ideal for a man who recently had foot surgery.

Being in the middle of nowhere we had no choice but to continue on. The scenery was beatiful. We'd left behind the valley floor of the river and now were travelling through farmland with windmills, sheds and cows dotting the landscape. We quickly developed a routine whereby I'd hold out one hand and push Dan along for 15-20 seconds at a time before pulling back before the next push. This continued for about two hours. Push, rest, push, rest, walk up steep hill, freewheel down, push, rest.

The kayaks couldn't come quick enough. Two hours of kayaking through the hawkesbury river were sublime. The vista was just incredible. What made it all the better was the knowledge that absolutely nobody lived anywhere near there. It was just the two of us in the kayak, some water and the valley. Just beautiful.



After two hours of kayaking we were back on the bikes to finish the last two hours of the race. We made it in in just over 9 hours despite the lack of pedals and didn't even come last.

So what I'm trying to say is that if you ever get a chance to do an adventure race you should definitely do it. It was one of the best experiences I've had in Australia and cemented a friendship.



Sweet as. I'm off for a cycle cos it's hot as and I need some exercise.

Melbourne adventures

Landing in Avalon airport 50kms from civilisation on Friday night I began to wonder if this is what people had meant when they said that Melbourne’s “so European.” It was classic Ryanair style airport; one baggage claim, toilets contained in freezing portaloos, everything made of plywood and a long, expensive bus ride to the city. I didn’t mind though, I was happy out after my first flight in four months and a rather pleasant London Dry and Ton-Ton accompanied by my ever more exciting book.



The road to the city passes through typical industrial suburbia before passing over a magnificent bridge with views of the city including the famous “London Eye” only that it’s in Melbourne and doesn’t actually work. I met a bubbly cousin Fi for $8 litros and even better value banter in one of the “European” style bars. Legging it to miss our train, possibly due to the donut stop, we cut our losses and hopped in a taxi.



Bad cousins, bad bad cousins


Late night takeaways in Australia are often drive-thru only and for health and safety reasons will not serve customers on foot. This can and has been on less proud occasions an irritating issue. Luckily there is always a cab waiting in the car park willing to take you through the drive through for a fee which makes it an expensive Macca’s (but all the more satisfying).



Sadly, not for the last time in the weekend, we found ourselves in a cab slowly following the other numbskulls to cholesterol filled self destruction. Damn it was good!

Saturday morning was a slow starter but our determination to tackle the infamous “Edge” (not the guitarist from U2 as our ever useful and incredibly witty Lonely Planet pointed out). A few coffees later we found ourselves outside the Eureka Skydeck 88 entrance marvelling at the PR folks who’d encumbered the building with such a name. Mike, from my Frisbee team in London, joined us. Safety in numbers.



The Edge is one of the most ludicrous tourist attractions I’ve been to, it consists of paying your extra dollareedoos to stand in a 3x3m opaque glass box that gets nudged out of the building. With a moment of high drama the glass becomes clear and you can see the same view you saw a few minutes before from the skydeck but at a slightly different angle. Pretty scary stuff and with the high winds buffeting us we could well have just fallen off the side of the building. Luckily we survived (and have wristbands to prove it) and spent the rest of the weekend congratulating each other about surviving the Edge.


Meeting the cousins

Mihlbin

For the first time since I landed in 4 months ago I'm back at Sydney airport for O'TooleFest 09 pt2. It's going to be a weekend of cousintastic fun. But first, a few thoughts...

Seat 23C, jetstar flight 625. Oh crap, it's an airbus. Wings? check; pilot x2?check; new pitot tubes? absolutement; fire extinguisher on cockpit? Oh yieeah... I'm ready for this. Seatbelt on, seatback up and tray in stowed position. Time to go mr pilot, crank her up and let's get this bird in the air.

One thing niggles though, something wasn't quite right there. Wait a second, here we go, that was different, different to how things are done in yerp. For starters I didn't have to pay to print out my own boarding card. My bottle of water made it through security intact, my shoes remained on, I felt almost... human.

Curiously they don't ask to see your boarding pass to get past security. Stranger still I wasn't asked for a single bit of ID to get on the plane. Next time there's a sale I'm gonna buy a ticket in the name of osama mcterrorist to see if they treat me any differently.

I did laugh at travellers inability to do nothing. Everyone was watching tv, ordering food, reading and in one wonderful example of the world gone stark bonkers crazy there was a young chap, maybe 18, sitting on the ground, legs askew with laptop precariously balanced on his gangly knees as he desperately tried to keep the power flowing in order to watch tv. Mad I tell u.

Me? Oh I was facing the tv, music in my ears, coffee by my side, writing this entry on my apple individuality device.

Good day sir.

Plan B

An extract from an email home:

Soooo, it's been 41 days since I landed in Sydney. Allowing for the "settling in" weekend that means I've been job hunting for 37 days. As I've said in previous emails that involves 5 days a week of calling recruiters, meeting recruiters, applying for jobs through online listing websites, contacting people I know in Sydney for potential leads and on one occasion actually going in for an interview.

In the last few weeks I've upped my recruiters again taking on Marcus, Jonathan, Lisa and Daniel to add to Ian, Sophie, Will, Bruce, Martin, Cliff, Darragh, Pater, Willem, Tasha, Deanna, Mark, Petina and Sean. This pretty much covers all the financial recruiters in Sydney so I have my bases covered. Out of those I have the guys that I know are "on my side" who I call every day. The others get a call once a week and an email too for good measure just to remind them how great I am.

Today has been a decent day as I have a phone interview at 4pm with Canon for an 8 week contract role doing reconciliations and also have scored an interview for a permanent position at a pipelines company on Friday at 4pm.

Looking for a job is a full time job so I haven't been able to get any other work as of yet such as data entry, bar work etc though I have started to look into it. I know that if worst comes to worst then Fi O'Toole's mate in Melbourne definately has bar work available! That said I'm holding out for a "proper" job.

It's a lot of work so far and sure it's gotten me down a bit now and again but it's all part of the rich experience of life. In the time here I've managed to go to three frisbee tournaments, see a few museums, go to Manly, do some clifftop walks, hit the beach frequently and do various nice things like that. I've cut out all entertainment that costs money such as going out at night as things are a little tight. Good to live like that now and again to get a grip on reality.

Occasionally one does let oneself go though and this happened two weekends ago when I was talking to someone on the beach in Terrigal between games. She had just completed a trip around Australia in her van and was looking to sell. She wanted €2000, I offered €1000 and she accepted. The best bit is that I don't have to pay until I can afford it :) So now I have a Plan B which is sitting outside the house. His name is Harald and he's a 1988 Hiace with 400,000kms on him. He's got a double bed in the back, three seats up front, 4 gears, a full kitchen and lots of other stuff I've yet to find. A pretty good Plan B if you ask me. You can check him out here: http://tinyurl.com/ctvs8e



You see I've given my months notice on the house I'm in as I can't afford the rent which means I have exactly one month to find a paying job to live a normal life. If that doesn't happen I'll hop into Harald, find some mates to share fuel and head off north to sunnier climes working on farms / finance / admin / whatever jobs to pay my way. It sure beats sitting around waiting for non existant jobs to turn up! This is very much a Plan B at this stage though it is kinda exciting knowing that it's an option.

In the current economic climate...

A month of job hunting, five hours a day online, at least ten
recruiters working for me and countless CV revisions has pulled up one
interview so far. I'm doing everything I can, using all my contacts,
calling all my recruiters, responding to all the ads but not much is
happening. I'm taking time to reflect on what the "current economic
climate" actually means. It means I have the opportunity to really get
to know myself through building the CV, talking to recruiters
answering questions that we should really be asking ourselves regularly:

What motivates you?
What are your strengths and weaknesses? (clichéd? yes, but have you
actually thought about yours?)
How would your friends describe you?
Describe your ideal job.
What are your goals in life?

These are tough questions that can really put things into perspective.
Think about them and all of a sudden the change of circumstances, the
reduction of pay doesn't seem to be the end of the world. I'm loving
the challenge of finding a job that I might actually enjoy. I'm loving
the challenge of feeding and transporting myself for €10 a day.

Admittedly Sydney isn't a bad place to be unemployed. After I put in
my hours searching for jobs and contacting my recruiters I either go
for a long run along the beachside clifftop between bondi and coogee
beaches or head to the beach for a few hours if reading, swimming,
thinking, appreciating and usually hanging out with mates.

Now if all this sounds a bit like a hippy has taken over sensibAL you
may be a little right. While I don't do drugs ("dope is for dopes",
right?!) and barely drink (it's expensive and I'm enjoying that smart
feeling that comes when you don't have a hangover) I have taken the
precaution of buying a campervan.

By campervan I mean of course a 1988 white Hiace van with bed in the
back. He's got two personalities, Harald and Casper II. I've yet to
pick him up but I'm sure we'll get on just fine. I said that I've taken the
precaution of buying him as if the job situation doesn't pick up I can
just find some willing travellers and take off up the coast to sunnier
climes, working in random jobs as I go.

So that's the backup plan. I feel an oxymoronical sense of calm and
adventure when I think of it. What better way to spend a year when
there simply aren't enough "proper" jobs to go around.

So don't be alarmed, I'm the same person, just a happier more content
one who's loving being challenged to make the most of life.

Hippy out,

al

Settling into Sydney

I've been here just over two weeks now and have taken to the place like a UCD team to a train vestibule. Actually the house I'm living in is quite like a vestibule as there are constantly random people coming in and out although it is a little bigger. I'm staying in Bondi Junction, also known as County Bondi due to the large number of GAA shirts being sported by those of the fairer complexion as they hit the happening night spots. Sadly I forgot my favourite Dublin jersey (supported them for years y'know) and my WCBU Ireland shirt has been confined to indoor use only.

For the first week I was staying with Troy from Fire of London who's here with de Google on a permanent transfer. Luckily he had a spare room so I was able to sleep off the horrific jet lag without having hundreds of backpackers milling around.

After a week I moved to the big house near Bondi Junction and about a 15 minute walk to Bondi Beach. The house is a huge 4 living room, 5 bedroom yoke with 5 of us paying rent and a travelling contingent of at least five randomers staying every night. I have my own room with a bit of privacy so it's all good. It does lead to an awful lot of red wine though as there's always a few people having a sip and who am I to refuse?

The job situation here is much like Ireland with very little going on. I've spent the last week contacting recruiters daily, scouring the interweb for potential positions but there's very little out there. The standard line from the recruiters is that if I'd turned up last year I'd have a job within a day. Now who would want that with the beach only a 15 minute walk away!! So it's a little tougher than expected but I'm still hopeful that with year ends coming up there may be some work on the audit side of things. Otherwise it may be al the waiter or floor cleaner for a year which would be a nice little grounding. Needless to say my mum isn't too pleased that I gave up a good job in London but I'm confident what I've experienced in the last 8 months is worth a bit of job pain and sure, the recession can't last forever, right??

Socially I've landed on my feet. I stayed with Troy from Fire for a week when I got here and now I've moved into the aforementioned house with Grace "the face" from Cark, Quentin and Sinead from Waterford, Colette from Sydney and Lopez the afro'd party planner from Paris. Added to that we have Ziggy from London who used to live here staying on the sofa, Damien and Regina on the fold out couch, Caroline and Hayley who are staying with Grace, David who's also staying with Grace and Lisa the Swedish model slash waitress who's staying with Lopez. !

Added to that I've been shown around by Elayna "Phelpsy" from the Green Tortoise bus in America quite a bit. It's been great to have familiar faces to hang out with.


I'm playing frisbee with Manly twice a week which is sweet. I have a few tournaments lined up with them over the next few months as well as summer / autumn / winter league.

So that's the Sydney Story for now. I'm down in my room, about to look for more jobs before heading out to Tropfest, a large outdoor film festival. Heavy hardcore trance is pumping down from the living room upstairs as Lopez and his mate come down from a big night out. Good times really, good time :)

Australia

After a great month in Dublin it's time to move on again. The need for some sun and employment is dragging me kicking and screaming to Sydney. It'll be a great year or two away to experience a "different culture" and learn a new language ("oh yiiaahh?", "g'daiy" etc).

Costa Rica

Puerto Viejo is billed as a party town, a paradise, somewhere you'll go and never want to leave. Sadly it is none of these. The Caribbean storms that had thus far prevented my from seeing that coast were still in full swing. The devastation was everywhere, flattened houses, ruined crops, waterlogged everything.

As a result of this Puerto Viejo was empty. I stayed in Rockin' J's, a hammock based hostel about 500m walk to the town centre. This was hostelling on an industrial scale with hammocks everywhere, countless tents on a raised platform and a few dorm rooms. Sadly it was empty, maybe about 20 tired, wet travellers.

We'd heard that there had been a bit of trouble on the road to town recently with local kids on bikes robbing travellers at gunpoint. With this in mind a group of four of us got together to make the walk to town. We were all over 6ft tall and our group included an Olympic rower (only got a bronze medal but figured he'd still be useful in a fight). As we walked in formation down the dodgy street we were buzzed a few times by the bike kids, they stared at us, we stared at them, each trying to out-menace the other.

We made it to town to find we were pretty much the only people there. A quick dinner and a bottle of $2 beer (Costa Rica is a relative rip off) and we headed back to the safety of the hostel compound.

The next day we heard that 5 of the 20 people staying at the hostel had been robbed on the same road the previous night. This place was hell, it was time to go. In five months of travelling through such places as Mexico City, El Salvador etc I'd never felt so unsafe.

Panama was next with the promise of another paradise, Bocas del Toro, around the corner.

Nicaragua

We arrived in bustling Leon in western Nicaragua around 3pm after a no-sleep-dirty-hangover bus ride from San Salvador. Being in no mood to take crap from anyone we got in an argument with our taxi driver over whether it was €1 each or €1 in total. We threw him a single and walked away into the Big Foot hostel, satisfied that we hadn't been ripped off, victorious.



We checked in, I emptied my entire bag into a laundry sack (things were getting a little grim on that front) and headed back to reception. There at the door, finger pointed right at me, was our taxi driver and a cop straight out of a 70's show, tache proudly tickling his nose. A quick check with the receptionist confirmed that we had in fact ripped off the taxi driver and now he was back, bullied kid with headmaster style, to collect his dues. Not wanting a night in a cell I threw him the extra cash, mumbled an apology in pigeon Spanish, and retreated to the safety of the dorm.

That was pretty much the highlight of leon, we wandered around a bit, checked out the huge cathedral, ate fried chicken and slept.


Next day we were off to Laguna Opoyo, a volcanic crater lake near Granada. This place was paradise with the dorm in an old boat shed looking out on the thermally warmed laguna. After a day and a half of kayaking, tubing and swimming we figured every day here would be identical to the last so moved on.

Granada was next, yet another colonial town where I said goodbye to Mark from Canada and Charlotte from Minnesota.

It was here I first saw the Virgin Mary.

There she was on a float surrounded by palm leaves and cherubic angels spouting water followed by a generator and a band. They sure love the virgin in these parts as I was to find out in San Juan del sur where she was paraded around incessantly with an entourage of big band playing, firework shooting devotees.

The preferred way of honouring the virgin appeared to be to make as loud an explosion as possible. Some of these bombs shook windows and reverberated around the town and they kept going all night. Not quite the relaxed beach atmosphere I'd expected.

A few days of lazing on the beach and a bit too much time online made me sick of the place so I hopped on a chicken bus to la frontera. Dodging ox and carts, chickens roosting in trees and roadside stalls we hoofed it to the border which we were warned was super hectic.

In fact it was a great border. That may have been because I hadn't had much sleep or appetite in the previous few days and was also slightly hungover which fostered a mild delirium where everything was amusing. After a bit of banter with the cambiomen I paid my dollar to get through the small gate which signifies the end of Nicaragua.

After persuading the emigration man to stamp my passport I walked the 10mins to costa rica, found the immigration office tucked behiind the restaurant and got my bus ticket to the capital, San juan.

San juan is a bustling place that looks like it was built in the 50's using the post war brutalist school of thought so popular in the bombed cities if the south of England. Avoiding the over pushy taxi men I decided to risk a walk through town to get to my hostel. It was just like any depressed high street, full of tacky shops, interesting people and litter.

After 20mins I checked into the aptly named hostel tranquilo, parted with my $8, had a freezing shower, hit burger king and went to bed. Up at 6am on account of the early night I set out to discover the historic heart of San jose. Not finding one I headed back to the hostel for the free DIY pancake breakfast. After frying up what was more like a loaf of bread than a pancake and laughing with the other hostellers over their equally inept efforts it was time to walk to the bus station and get the bus to Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean coast near the panama border. So I'm on the bus, iTouch in hand, listening to Damien Rice, admiring the hilly jungle-esque interior of costa rica and hoping it's not raining on the coast.

El Salvador to Nicaragua

The trip to playa el tunco, el Salvador came off the back of a fun party weekend in Antigua. I was ready for some daytime beach chilling followed by a few nighttime beers, perhaps even some exercise in the form of a boogie or whatever the kids call it these days. To quote Mick jagger: you can't always get what you want but if you try sometimes you get what you need.

To get to el tunco I first had to negociate myself out of bed. A tough call after my first night of couchsurfing. Valerie (see pic above) had promised a quiet night in, it was a Tuesday after all. What I got was a night out with the elite of San Salvador. Carlos picked us up in his super charged 4x4 tank resplendznt with sword on the back seat ("a Halloween prop..."). First stop was the GranVia, a new outdoor mall that was fancier than any I had seem in north America. Typically we went to the only Irish restaurant, Bannigans, for dinner (are there any "Irish" pubs in the world with a common Irish name?!) after that it was a whistlestop tour of posh dollar-a-beer bars culminating in being treated to kareoke until 3am.

We managed to convince Carlos "I know another bar we can go to" Stifler to drop us home after kareoke. Lucky that, as his semi drunken driving was getting a bit hairy. Drink driving doesn't seem to be an issue here. In fact I was proudly shown a picture of a crashed brand new BMW.

Next morning I was up at chicken bus o'clock to head to la libertad and then on to playa el tunco, a famous surf beach (don't worry, jane's been there too..!) I found a tent on a raised platform by the beach for $4. After a night of little sleep I treated myself to a night in a bed in Papayas lodge. El tunco was a bit quiet, the bars were empty by 8, so three of us decided to go back to san Salvador and on to Nicaragua.

So it was back to Valerie´s house in San Salvador with the promise of another quiet night in as she had a big night out planned for the next day.

With unnerving predictability we found ourselves still out at midnight. Instead of kareoke we rocked out at a "Veni U2" gig, intended to raise funds to bring U2 to el Salvador, with a tribute band fronted by a very womanly Bono. For a tribute band they knew very few U2 songs, in fact they just knew Vertigo which they played every few songs in the hope we'd be too drunk to notice.

Notice we did, so it was off to a nightclub that would fit very nicely in the poshest part of any capital city. Suddenly it was 3am, we hadn't had dinner yet and our bus to Nicargua was in two hours. And so we found ourselves packed into a car, eating drive-thru mcdonalds, cruising the streets of el Salvador.

We got to the apartmentst 3.45am, just in time for a quick brush of the fiaclas and to catch our cab. By 4.15am there was still no sign of the cab. I was slowly falling asleep on my backpack on the footpath, mark was trying to drunkenly figure out what to do while michael from holland was chuckling whilst proclaiming: "ishn't did weird".

I was seconds from passing out when a police 4x4 pulled up and four commandos, toting machine guns for good measure, jumped out and surrounded us. Using a jumble of "bus", "5am" and "mucho problema" we got across the gravity of the situation. Either because they were nice people or they didn't want to deal with the headlines the next day ("3 gringos murdered on sidewalk") they threw our backpacks in the back and invited us to ride with them.

And so it was, with two heavily armed, ballaclavad, commandos guarding our bags in the back, that we came to get a police escort through San Salvador to our bus terminal.

My memories of passing through Honduras don´t amount to much, I´m sure it was beautiful etc. but I was fast asleep for all of it (except for the obligatory "welcome to honduras" sign).

Antigua (again) and El Salvador

The original intention was to spend a day in Antigua to re-form my body into it's normal shape after a 9 hour bus journey and to get a wash done. Five days later and I'm finally in el sALvador. I blame Rum, Paul, Jessica and Devon. The hostel was just too much fun to leave.

In the end I'm glad I stayed because it gave me the chance to climb Volcan Pacaya again. The first time round I climbed it in the morning but I later discovered to my horror that Jane had climbed it in the evening. In order to faithfully recreate Jane's journey I would have to climb it again.


Going back gave me a chance to see solid rock where last month I saw flowing lava. Geography teachers worldwide would wet themselves. The lava this time around was a good 20 minute hike further up the volcano on steep, slippery terrain, a mixture between sand and sharp rocks eager to attack your ankles. Thanks to my days of playing frisbee on the beach I found the easiest way up was to run.

The lava snuck up on us this time, we were scrambling over fresh, hollow sounding rock when the guard said softly and with no sense of urgency that we should perhaps not be where we were and instead follow him. A good call as a few metres on we could see that we had been standing on the thin roof of a cave about two metres wide from which flowed a fast moving stream of 2000C liquid magma (dr evil would love this!). At the same time the sun was setting creating an incredible glow as the clouds we were in rushed by.

Having been toasted marshmallow style by the lava we started our descent. The easiest way to do this was to attempt to ski down using feet as skis and my trusty stick as a "jaysus" device to stop a fusion of ass and sharp rock. We made it back in good time using flashlights and a bus. Never was a Burger King cheeseburger and fries more deserved.

This morning I was up to get a shuttle to Guatemala city at 9. First things first though, I needed coffee, bread and to post my latest postcard to Rosie, Queen of Clonskeagh. I was hanging out with Helen (from San pedro / NZ, just back from the rainy caribbean coast and very hungover), Jessica (from Antigua / Oregon and off to semuc champey) and Sophia (from Sofia, off to San pedro again) on this beautiful morning. By 9.15 there was still no shuttle, no big deal in Guatemala to have a delay. I popped my head into the girls at the travel agents to check on it. My appearance was greeted with calm panic followed by some frantic phone calls. I left them to it, I could see I was in good hands.

My trust was well placed as ten minutes later my shuttle, i.e. a volvo estate with three Americans already in the back, duly turned up. After doing a few laps of the city's one way streets trying to find a way out (half of the streets were being dug up and the rest closed due to the presidents imminent arrival) we were on our way.

I was dropped at the tica bus terminal two hours early so I checked my bag and went for a wander. I saw a last chance to experience Guatemalan culture across the motorway and thought what a great way to spend a few hours. I put on my sprinting shoes and ran through the speeding cars to get across to the megamall complete with McDs, BK and joy of joys Taco Bell. I feasted on taco fries and, appropriately, a volcano taco (cultural, no?). I enjoyed a few hours of wandering around shops such as Tommy Hilfiger, Zara, y'know traditional guatemalan fare, before the volcano taco duly lived up to it's name and for the second time that day my sprinting shoes proved themselves to be a lifesaver.

As the grand Tica bus pulled into the Guatemalan side of the border a murder of cambio men came charging towards us waving huge wads of quetzals and dolares. Putting on my best Roy-Keane-talking-about-the-FAI face I pushed through them to get to the border control. As I stood in (the wrong) line I amused myself by observing the tactics of the cambio men. The would stand outside waving their wads as if having the biggest wad was crucial to gaining credibility and business. Some would tap on the glass, others, when they caught your eye, would wave their wads and wink, kindred spirits with old men who hang around primary school gates with bags of fresh candy.

Back on the bus we drove the short distance to the el Salvador side of the border. This time it was all a bit modern with the border guy walking through the bus scanning our passports with a fancy piece of beepy machinery. No stamp in the passport?what's the point incoming here?!


There was time to hop off the bus for a super greasy popoussa and a coke as the guards checked the bags. I swear they only looked at the bags that belonged to locals. I say this because my bag was near the front and they just climbed over it to get to the cheaper looking ones. Either way after about a quarter of the bags they got bored so it was "Vamos" and we were off.

So I'm now sitting on the bus on the way to San Salvador where i'm staying with victoria and her boyfriend, my first couchsurfing experience. Tomorrow I'm off to playa el sumthin to try a bit of surfing and to see what el Salvador is about. It's gotta be good, right? After all it's got "al" in it's name.....

I couldn't take it anymore. I mean, I need my ass right? If it ended
up staying numb forever then how could I ever appreciate a good sofa
again? Nine hours in a hiace van from San pedros to Coban was enough.
I could do the two slow, windy hours to lanquin the next day. I needed
relief.

That's how I ended up in Coban, lovingly described in the lonely
planet ("LP" or "the bible") as "not so much an attraction in
itself...", in the rain. Cold rain at that. May as well have been in
Ireland, at least there I would have a warm bed and a mammy ready with
a roast chicken sandwich and a glass of the latest super value red
wine if the month.

As it was I was alone in coban, slightly damp LP in hand, trying to
find hostel chipi chipi (closed down), followed by hostel jam bamboo
(doesn't exist) before hotel la Paz proved the bible can be right at
least 33% of the time.

I settled into my private room and tried to convince myself that the
mcdonalds I'd spotted on the drive in was a bad idea. It's amazing how
a seemingly intelligent person with all sorts of letters after his
name can have a debate like this with himself and still have no
conclusion after half an hour.

Only thing to do was to go for a wander with the bible and some
quetzals and try sort out a plan for the week. The town itself was
dark, wet and dirty. I was tired and grumpy. We agreed that I'd do my
business as quickly as possible then I'd leave it alone to get on with
being "not so much an attraction"...

Target one: Internet cafe. God forbid I go more than 24 hours without
reading the Irish times. Target two: pollo campero, a guatemalan kfc
which I justified as being a compromise between mcdonalds and
Guatemalan cuisine. It is Guatemalan owned after all. Target three:
bed. Easy.

That was yesterday.

I'm now sitting in a thatched hut beside a fast flowing river,
cappucino in hand, cinnamon roll in belly, listening to the white
noise of Israelis garbling in Hebrew and watching the hens cluck their
way around the garden. It's overcast but not raining, warm and not
cold but at the same time it's cold but not warm. Is there a word for
that temperature? Answers on a postcard please to al c/o el retiro.

The bus here was by definition a chicken bus as there was indeed a
live chicken in a plastic bag one row in front of me. The chicken was
joined by three adults and five kids all in the same row. The bus made
frequent stops to squeeze more people on and to fix the cling film
that passed as a window by the passenger seat. I had the pleasure of
being warmed by a genial hombre gordo to my left and the crotch of a
thinly moustached chico to my right. At one stage I also had a tamale
carrying woman by my feet and another leaning in front of me whose
odour was a skillful mix of a few weeks worth of sweat and fresh
coriander. With companions like these the need for heating was
eliminated.

This is how I justified spending €1.50 on a cinnamon roll and a
coffee. Sometimes I deserve it, right? The plan for today us to
perhaps lie on a hammock, maybe gave a poke online, chill out if you
will. Tomorrow I'm doing a tour of the caves and water pools. That's
the reason I put myself through all those buses. It had better be good!

Until next time....

Adventures in Lilliput

Chica turned 11 yesterday and to celebrate we had fried chicken with rice and not a lot of chat. There was no cake (boo!) but the mood was lightened by the introduction of a new set of juggling balls. Everyone had a go, everyone struggled. The lessons continue today. Anyway the point of this post is to show you pictures of the family I´m living with in the Lilliput area of town.

Anyway here´s a few pics of my family. I couldn´t get the pics to rotate though, try turning your screen on its side for easier viewing!

From Family photos - san pedros
From Family photos - san pedros

Sunrise at the Indian´s Nose

It's pretty rare that a promise made over a roast dinner in a pub on a Sunday evening to get up the next day at 2.30am for a hike is actually kept. Today was one of those rare exceptions. That's how I ended up sitting at a deserted dock at ten to three this morning.

By ten past three in the a.m. our group had assembled and the guide had turned up. Both unlikely events! We hiked through rough, steep, sloppy terrain for 3hrs to reach the tip of the Indian´s nose. The view from there was breathtaking. I'd only ever seen the sun sitting on the horizon with a blanket of clouds below from an airplane. Real front-of-a-religion-textbook stuff.

We sat and watched the sun rise over a duvet of clouds, between volcano peaks, quiet in awe of what was in front of us. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

To make the day that bit better, after running back to San pedro for my 9am class I was told that my teacher was ill. So I'm lying in bed looking forward to a day of chilling out and napping. Tough ol life....

Family life in Guatemala

For the past week I've been living with a Guatemalan family in the centre of San pedros. It's headed by francisca and felix with Judith, rebecca and 11yr old chica.

A typical day here involves breakfast at 8.30am which can be anything from corn flakes to a chicken stew with tortillas. From 9am-1pm I go to school by the lake for Spanish lessons then back home for lunch. Lunch is the main meal of the day here usually consisting of a stew with rice or some meat, always served with tortillas. I can´t count the amount of tortillas I´ve had in the last week!

After lunch I do my homework(!) then try and get some exercise like kayaking on the lake, swimming or running. Admittedly I´ve only kayaked once but it was very tiring, must be the altitude, right?

Last week was special as Rebecca was graduating from high school. There was a fiesta dinner with the grandparents and family. Such is society here the girls (including rebecca) spent most of dinner making tortillas for the rest of us. When they finally made it to the table they were eating off polystyrene plates. Kinda surprising to have the guest of honour working in the kitchen until the end. The meal was a quiet affair with the main focus being the consumption of food, there was no real chat or alcohol.

After dinner grandad #1 spoke for ages in maya, giving advice to rebecca and lots of thanks to the big man above and to felix and franny for all the hard work they put in over the last 18 years. At this point felix started to cry uncontrollably. By the time grandad #2 took the stage fran had started leaking too. Meanwhile the three giants (fi, rob and I) were sitting there not knowing what to do as our maya isn't quite up to scratch and we didn´t know if we should stay around to watch the breakdown of the family!

Everyone had a go at giving advice to the poor girl (I didn't say anything as my advice probably wouldn't quite fit in with the guat life.) finally they were done and after a buen proveco and a muchas gracias we made our escape glad to have been a part if it.

San Pedro de la Laguna, Guatemala

Aesthetically San Pedros de la Laguna is not a pretty town. It's cramped alleyways, breezeblock "houses" and mess of telephone wires are what you might call "rustic charm" but to be honest it just reeks of a "this'll do" attitude. That attitude is fair enough given how people live, there is no room for the nice-to-haves in life. The town is right on the lake but you wouldn't really notice it unless you went looking.

The main tourist street is essentially an alley, barely big enough for the tuktuks and motorbikes that like to zoom down them. It houses many many bars and cafes, nearly all of them owned by ex-pats looking for a more sedate life. Little did they realise that the competition between all the bars has reduced the price of a litre of beer (to share of course...) to about e1.80. The bars are pretty cool though.

The Buddha bar is a great spot for live music. I went to the open mic night and listened to some aged and some not so aged hippies jamming on their guitars and bongo drums. I guess when you're a dirty hippy you have plenty of time to practice guitar as they were all pretty awesome. Three or four of the bars show movies every night which is great for just chilling out and taking a night off.

I've been placed with a Guatemalan family about five minutes walk from the main alley. They are so nice and very, very authentic! In fact this is the one part of my trip in central america so far where people genuinely dress like they do in the guide books. I have my own room (with padlock) and get fed three times a day. Food is traditional maya stuff with shedloads of tortillas made on the cooker, I try to help but I think my strength is always going to be pasta and goo.

The kitchen is located across an alley from the house, under an avocado tree with a lovely view of the lake. The main cooker is like a steel table encased in fireproof tiles with a wood fire burning under it to provide heat. Everything is cooked on this steel, water is boiled, eggs are fried and of course the tortillas are cooked directly on it.

I'm planning on being here until next sunday at least as the spanish lessons are going well. Mi Maestra Estella halba mucho espanol y yo quiero habler espanol tambien. Lessons are from 1-5 every afternoon under a reed canopy down by the lake. I kept on getting distracted by hummingbirds buzzing by my head yesterday and by the occasional horse wandering by. It's a really beautiful setting for skool. The Kielys are heading off towards Belize this Sunday via a Mayan theme park and some other Guat sights. I'm going to stay here until fluent(!) and then head south through el salvador, honduras etc.

I've been doing a lot of thinking while on the road and I reckon that I should focus on getting as many stamps in the passport as possible before settling back into the real world sometime in 2009. So the plan is now to head south as far as Argentina and then head west towards Australia or NZ to maybe work for a while and then make my way back to Ireland somehow. I love the freedom of this plan as I can just as easily cut it short and head back to home at any time. This plan is just what I'm thinking right now and will probably change along the way!

San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico

After the heat of puerto Escondido San cristobal was a bit of a shock. It's a beautiful colonial town set high in the mountains. Whilst mountains are very pretty etc the elevation of almost 2000 metres made for very cold nights. Unfortunately the hostel dorms were more akin to barns with doors swinging open during the night letting in freezing cold air. I had to invest in a wooly hat from a street seller to add to my night time thermals.

The day trip to palenque didn't help the temperature situation. It started at 6am in a minibus. Four painful hours later we were at agua azul, a set of beautiful waterfaals and pools. After an hour there we moved to miso-ha, a very large waterfall where you could follow a path that led behind the falls. It was pretty cool being behind a waterfall but as it should turn out waterfalls contain water which is the essence of wetness. Needless to say I got thoroughly soaked. Did I have a change if clothes?of course not!

A few minutes drive later we arrived at the highlight of the trip: the ruins of palenque. These were some amazing ruins, made even more spectacular by the torrential rain. I waded through paths covered withthree inches of water to see giant pyramids, temples, houses and a spectacular waterfall that looked like it belonged in desneyland.

The drive home was long (5 hours), cold (on a mountain) and wet (see above) but it was worth it to get into the barn and shiver myself to sleep!

Puerto Escondido

After the bus ride from hell we settled into the hostel mayflower for what was meant to be two nights. Grotty as the town was it had the most beautiful beach with excellent chill out bars. As a result the two nights turned into seven without being noticed. I could have stayed forever but managed to drag myself away eventually.

A typical day there involved getting up around eleven and hitting lizas bar on the beach as they had shades. In order to sit under their shades it was courtesy to buy a drink. This is how the one a day piña colada habit kicked off! Lizas was a great launch point for getting pummelled in the waves, surfing and bodyboarding. Sadly my strong point was getting pummelled.

There's really not much else I can say about Escondido. It felt like a proper holiday spent with great new friends at the hostel. Even now, two weeks later, I'm having to convince myself not to go back.

The bus of death - Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido

To get from Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido you have two options:
1. 6 hour 10euro trip over the mountains in a hiace van
2. 11 hour 20euro trip around the mountains in a proper bus

We chose option 1.

Bad choice.

The bus had 14 seats and 8 seatbelts. Unluckily for us we could see out of the front window and thus see just how many times we cheated death. The driver seemed to be followed the mantra "we´ll get you there early or not at all" because he was hoofing it along narrow "roads" up and down the mountain.

His favourite trick was to save a few seconds by taking blind corners at 100kmph driving on the wrong side of the road. Another favourite was to overtake other vehicles with his lights off while driving in the pitch black darkness.

We seemed to have God on our side though as we had left on a Sunday and there were religious icons all over the van. For example the rear view mirror was covered with rosary beads... The speedometer has a sticker of the Virgin Mary covering all speeds from 90 - 130kmph....

We sat there feeling utterly nauseous for 6 hours of this journey from hell. The worst moment was when we overtook a truck at pace coming up to a left hand blind turn around a steep cliff. We pulled back into our side 20m before the turn, 2 seconds later a huge bus came hurtling down the side of the road we had just been on. Nauseau increased a little.

But as I keep on saying, all´s well that ends well. We made it to the bus depot to be greeted by a large shrine to the great Virgin herself. It turns out that believing strongly in theVM is much more effective than maintaining a sensible speed, driving on the right having seatbelts...

Mexico, eh?

Mexico City photos

http://picasaweb.google.com/alanwm/MexicoCity?authkey=ezP9xJq8eeM#