Coke, Hookers, Thieves and Rum

December 7, 2016 § Leave a comment

I spent a week in San Juan del Sur – learning to surf some of the days and getting fucked up on Flor de Cana rum and Cokes every night, all seven of em. San Juan had the grit I like where sketchy characters try to sell you drugs (sunglasses vendors walking the crescent strip of sand bordering the bay, wild on the go taxi drivers, disheveled street roamers, zombies), mostly weed and coke. You couldn’t walk along the shore at night without big chances of being robbed at knife point – this not just a rumor but a true story I’d heard first hand from a German friend Nico I’d chummed with one night in Juayua El Salvador). San Juan was the place to party and home to the famous throughout Central America and in fact the world Sunday Funday – a great big sex and drugs drunk fest pool party pool crawl at a few of the popular hostels in town.

I arrived on the bus late afternoon and checked into the only hostel in town with a few available rooms left, it being Sunday Funday.

I got drunk that night and went skinny dipping in the ocean (first time that) with a French Canadian and Korean girl I’d rode in on the bus with.

Monday morning I went surfing (rough and feeble attempt at it anyway) at Playa Maderas and during one of my breaks spotted this cute Honduran girl who was staying at my same hostel (Nico – and I hadn’t seen him since almost a month prior in Utila Honduras – walked out of her room earlier that morning hungover as anybody I’ve ever seen dazed and stumbling with blood shot eyes mumbled something at me and walked off, after him came a guy I barely remember that I met at a hostel in El Tunco, and last was the Sunday Funday tagteam girl from Honduras who later denied that the second guy was ever in there). So she was cute and each time the new guy she was with went off to surf I’d walk over and chat her up in Spanish. We made plans to hang out later that night. I didn’t have a phone so in old school tradition I told her to show up at my hostel around 8 and after getting back to my hostel with no way of knowing one way or another if I’d ever see her again sat in my room debating what I’d do that night.

She showed up at seven. I got a knock on my door from the nighttime guard saying somebody was there to see me. I walked out surprised to see her. We bought beer and walked to the beach and lay on the sand against a log drinking it and talking. It was probably the longest continual Spanish conversation I’d had with anybody since I can remember, something like 2 hours. We eventually got to kissing and rubbing on each other and I pulled her bra down so I could suck on her breasts. She was hesitant to let me put my mouth on it. She stopped me and told me that she still had tits full of breast milk (during the conversation she had told me about a child she had somewhere off in Canada with the father). She squeezed a nipple and I watched milk dribble out. I told her I didn’t mind and put my mouth over her tit and tasted the sweet cream dripping from her nipple. She must’ve been self conscious about it because she stopped me again and I could tell she really didn’t want me sucking on them. I told her we should head back to my room and she bought a bottle of rum for the night. We got back to the hostel and I had to pay the night guard something like $10 for her to stay the night. I payed the man and brought her back to my room, cracked the bottle and took sips before turning out the light and putting it in her.

I didn’t get good sleep because she was all limbs across the bed and snoring. She left right after waking and I gave her a few bucks for the rum which I kept. That was the last I saw of her.

Tuesday morning I switched over to the naked tiger hostel high up in the hills which had a pool and backyard overlooking the San Juan bay where I spent five days getting real fucked up on rum coke and adderall – chumming with Vince the French Canadian and Hannes the German who I’d rode into Nicaragua with on my fever bus trip from Honduras, chumming with Jhaster a Filipino from Canada, chumming with Alonso a real boozie small airplane pilot from Guadalajara Mexico. I had been drinking so hard and heavy with these guys that when Sunday Funday came around I was all partied out and didn’t last past eight pm. We hit the first two pool party hostels and I could already feel myself fading and by the time we came back to our hostel for the end of the night big party I just walked into my dorm room and sat talking to a girl I wanted to bang, unsuccessful at that, for hours before crashing.

I left for Costa Rica on Monday, a week in San Juan was enough to fuck my mind. I slept in a town whose name I can’t remember, took a few valiums I’d bought in San Juan from a pharmacy for recovery, and the next day left for Santa Elena where I hiked in one of Costa Rica’s famed cloud forests. The cloud forest is the only draw in the area as the town is geared toward tourism in obnoxious billboard ways. I left Santa Elena and headed for the coast. I spent a few days surfing and partying in Tamarindo with a German guy named Henry before splitting for Jaco, same as San Juan, seedy, drugs, hookers, thieves, a few hours south.

The bus passed the town and I realized about ten miles too late and had to have the driver pull off the side of the road and hitchhike back to Jaco in the rain. I was picked up by a real sweet prostitute from Colombia name Joanna. She dropped me off in town and it was the day of the tope where all the cowboys get real fucked up, the whole town gets fucked up, and the cowboys ride horses through the streets. I picked a hostel, dropped my bags, set out for beer, drank a six pack, drank a liter, drank another liter hung out with Belgians all night looking for something to do some place to go out to for free but nothing, only chummed with one of them a guy whose name I forget but super cool guy 21 with sympathetic Kerouac eyes and cool enough to ask some locals in a comedor as they were leaving if it was okay for him to eat their big plate of leftovers, drunkenly told him how great he was to eat the full plate still warm left behinds, afterward had a big hours long chat with a coked up black cutie from Austin TX, was offered coke but declined, I wanted to be able to sleep, went to bed around 2 or 3 am, spent the next day surfing, no real hangover, the beach always dominates any hangover, saw the best latin ass of my life, surfer girl, as she lay stomach on her board waiting for a wave and that perfect roundbubble tan heart shaped ass eating her bikin bottoms pointed straight to the sky so that all the surfer guys couldn’t help but to stare.

I was fucked up on beer and rum a week straight, surfing, taking morning ocean dips to set my mind straight. Short term friends came and went. Fucked the coked up black girl who got me all fucked up on vodka one night, she twerked for me in my empty dorm moving each cheek separate from the other, a real sight.

I had to get outta there. I had a few weeks left before my plane was due out of Panama City.

I took a 8 hour bus ride across Costa Rica, from the Pacific to the Caribbean, from Jaco to Puerto Viejo, stayed a night, got high with a bunch of travelers from different Latin countries and went out searching for a good time, women, decided I didn’t like Puerto Viejo, took the same 8 hour bus ride back the way I came the next morning, fell in love with a french lovely named Delphine who I sat next to and chatted with the whole way, bought her a meal in San Jose and had real deep soul eye connections and smiles but she didn’t like me the way I liked her, deflected kiss attempt, ah heart break, left each other in San Jose and caught my transfer bus back to Jaco.

Another week fucked up, same story. Cocaine and a new friend named Fabrizio. Fucked an Asian girl with pierced nipples and nice tits, fucked her in the ass. Another night took valium ritaline weed drank 4 litres and walked the streets feeling great with a french canadian tattooed girl, also, different night with same girl had a big pushing eachother into the pool and jumping off balcony into pool drunkfest at the hostel. Another night got stopped by the cops high on coke walking down the street with Fabrizio and a few other guys. Fabrizio threw his wallet which had the coke bag and the ID. Cops let us go after a pat down (“drugas?”“no tengo nada”) but found and kept his wallet. Walking back home alone from a random house in Costa Rica at 2 am I was stopped by the same cops who demanded I get in their truck and take them to Fabrizio. I just kept telling them I didn’t know who they were talking about and didn’t get in the truck and made it back to my hostel without another foreign country jail experience.

My mind is slipping. Everytime I close my eyes I have conversations with people that arent there in places that I’m not at and when I come to, when I open my eyes I’m spooked to be on a bus or laying on a bed. I can’t stop drinking these litres. I can drink so many of them now. A little cocaine. 4 AM. A predator for females but I always get the ones I don’t want. I wish the voices in my head would stop, these conversations with people that mean nothing and go nowhere because they turn into inane ramblings and grumblings no words”

I had to leave Jaco or burnout on booze and drugs. I woke up feeling twisted same as everyday, not physically sick but brain fuzzy; ate a quick pinto and eggs breakfast at my spot next door and split for the bus station. It was another 8 hour ride from Jaco back to Puerto Viejo but I didn’t care because busses never bother me, I love them. And that particular bus ride was great because I sat next to what I thought was a model. I saw her sitting in the station, I saw her tall thin body and porcelin thin beautifully sculpted face, brown pony tail and big eyes with a fashion that I hadn’t seen on any other backpacker chick in the humid clime of Central America – brown boots and tight jeans and dressy shirt. I thought I’d spotted a backpacking model. I was close to striking up a chat with her but chickened out. How lucky I was she sat next to me. 8 hours with her and ah heartbreak, her final stop was two towns away from my final stop. How these women all disappear. There’s not enough life times.

I left Puerto Viejo disappointed for the second time. Probably my fault as there must’ve been plenty to do, not so much in Puerto itself which has the feel of a place sort of existing solely for tourism as opposed to say an already established locally hip beach town (markets and schools, food stands, churches and work goers padding the sidewalks to get to, from) travelers at some point caught on to and adopted as their next hip spot which is exactly what I envisioned Puerto to be. In reality Puerto was just a reggae red green and gold weed leaf bob marley vending hippy necklace vendor stall and expensive dining lodging bar places where all I saw instead of young hip backpackers was yuppies. Not to say that was the entirety of it. The local scene was a lot of Afro Carib riding bikes, most vending trinkets. Expectations were high and the energy fell flat is all. Especially coming from Jaco.

I spent two nights in Puerto Viejo recovering from Jaco. I did nothing while I was there.
The final morning I bought myself an expensive breakfast, because you can’t find any meal for under $5, finished that up and bought my ticket for Sixaola, in other words the Costa Rican/Panama border. I had time to kill so I bought a coconut and drank its water while walking around town. Coconut so good I bought another and drank it and rewalked the same route before I made it back to the station, or I should say bus bench, among the throngs of bus bench sitters and standers in time to board and split.

I took my seat and some scabby emaciated bald girl traveler with wide eyes and loose clothes took the seat next to me. She was almost methy in the way she sort of looked around, but at the same time very stoned in the sedated way she spoke to me. Strange kitty. It was about an hour till we arrived in Limon Province, border town Sixaola. As border towns go I wanted to split ASAP and as border towns go it was a confusing stalls and stamps and paperwork.

I told that strange kitty she needed an outward bound ticket from Panama otherwise they wouldn’t let her enter (same thing happened to me entering Costa Rica and had to buy shit piece of worthless paper bus ticket I’d never use proving onward departure back to Nicaragua for $25). She had a laissez faire attitude about the whole thing, the universe handles everything for you and positive vibes will get you through type thing. I didn’t push it.

Right off the jump we were reeled in by a border crossing helper who without missing a beat or allowing even a second for me to say NO led us to the Panamanian entry line. There were about four different lines to four different windows actually and each line was about 20 people deep. We waited what seemed like an hour before our turn at the window. I went first, presenting my laptop screen with evidence of purchase plane ticket out Panama City two weeks from that point. It was suffient. I was sent onward. While I was talking to my border patrol guy, the strange kitty took the window next to me and was having immense trouble with her guard and explaining why she didn’t need an onward ticket and how many times she had done the thing in the past without the onward ticket and with no problem. Well, no dice. She wasn’t allowed in to the country and without saying much I went my own way.

My border helper found me, had his eye on me the whole time no doubt, and led me to an other window where I had to pay a fee for a piece of paper. That part seemed shady and I didn’t understand, or mabye only now almost a year later don’t understand cause I’ve forgotten what exactly that fee and paper were for. Nonetheless I payed up and thanked the helper and gave him absolutely no money (though he definitely was a big help, didn’t ask for it though) and went about my way across the bridge, crossing borders crossing borders.

Panama was immediately different than Costa Rica. The people were very dark skinned, yet they didn’t have the look of any of the people I’d seen in all previous Central American countries. There was evidence of some sort of Afro genes mixed with something else entirely. The way they spoke, the way they moved. Central America is a trip like that. Coming from Mexico into Belize, say Dangriga Belize and you get this vibrant Creole Culture, spanish spoken in a Creole accent from both black skins and brown, you’d never expect it if you didn’t already know about it. Pop over into Guatemala and it’s like traveling through time where you still can see stick and mud huts along the road and all the colorful pretty dresses of the indiginous women, the ever surviving Maya. Drop into El Salvador and you see a very light skinned curly haired wide nosed look that you won’t find elsewhere in Central. Sidestep into Honduras and you get an interesting mix, though I didn’t explore Honduras thoroughly enough to speak on the people with any real observation. Head south into Nicaragua and you get a darker shade, curly hair, bold type people, thick dispositioned, proud, old Sandanistas! Head down to Costa Rica and you get a beautiful light skinned refined people, laid back, sweet. What a mix Central America.

I crossed the border and sat outside of a market, real beat low down characters milling about, not low down in any dangerous sense only a humble impoverished crack a true smile belly laugh existence, them all milling about or sitting, watching, chatting, laughing. That’s one element of your existence here on this planet you shouldn’t miss friend, there’s nothing like it. Go sit on a bus bench in foreign country where you’re the only person who looks out of place; and maybe you don’t even speak the language, sit on that bus bench with the laughing watching humble impoverished, ask them directions, chat, with hands, with eyes, whatever; SMILE; do that and feel right at home, feel right at home because you are and thems your family. Who am I to tell you what to do.

I asked one of these characters how to get to my next stop, Almirante. They let me know how to do it, and how to do it the right way, in other words the quick way. I saw a few different busses pull up and leave with the sign for Almirante in the window. They all told me to avoid those specific busses because they took a long ardous mountain route. I would’ve never known this, thank you Panamanians. When my right bus pulled up they urged me to hop on, told me how much the pay would be, etc. In other words the humble poor folk got me exactly where I needed to go. How I love them.

It was something like an hour to Almirante. Right off the bus, as usual, a helper spotted me, the obvious non local, the obvious backpack; and reeled me in for a walk over to the lancha dock for the boat trip to the Bocas Islands. I bought my ticket, something like $5 bucks and waited, probably with a coconut.

We arrived at Bocas Island a few hours before sundown. Much like Utila – houses on stilts, the pastels, the almost colonial style – though Bocas was bigger, streets were wider, the pace seemed slower. I liked Bocas more than Utila. Also, you’ll read why.


Push it Along

October 1, 2016 § Leave a comment

Now, almost a year later, I can scarcely remember anything from the trip, but no matter because this is for Alzheimers, when I’m old gray and withered.

I burned through Granada: I might have transferred busses in Managua or Masaya, or both – I think I did but I don’t remember for sure. No, we did. Managua was dingy. Maybe Masaya was too. By the time our bus pulled into Granada it was close to sunset. The bus station was a ways from the town center and I wasn’t oriented at all. I walked all over trying to figure out how to find the centro. I bought a beer from a gas station, sweating and tired drinking the beer on a curb wondering how I’d get to the centro. I caved and flagged a taxi. It was a two-minute drive so I wasn’t far off. It was a beautiful colonial cobblestone town square with hostels a plenty on the adjoining side streets. I picked myself a hostel, the name of it eludes me, dropped my things and drank a few beers at the bar counter. The hostel was mostly empty which was fine with me as I was feeling sick again. I didn’t really do anything in Granada so not much to write about. I stayed for three days, sick all of them. The last day I gave in and took the antibiotics and the next day I was right as rain. My road friends Indian Shiv, Québécois Vince, German Hannes and Canadian Greg, all friends I hadn’t really mentioned prior and at this point can’t do any justice to a real character description of any of them, all friends I briefly chummed with for a day and a night in Granada. The last time I’d see Shiv and Greg, further adventures with Vince and Hannes.

I left Granada for the island of Ometepe on the lake Nicaragua. I had to pass back through Masaya and catch a bus to Rivas followed by a cab to the ferry station. I was alone again, feeling good. We pulled into Ometepe.

And to digress — Ah, life, how hard it is to exist at times, even when the cards are in your favor, shoot the moon — alone with the mind which can turn against you in the worst of ways. Here I am in Yellowstone smoking cigarettes and drinking Bulleit outside my bedroom door staring at the dew drops in the nooks of the nighttime grass shining like stars beneath the neighborhood flood lights. How can I continue? I can only.

IAMA Fever

August 27, 2016 § Leave a comment


I took something like a fifteen hour shuttle from Utila to Nicaragua. Sick from the previous days on the boat it was a hellish ride of fever and headache. We arrived at the Nicaraguan border at 9 PM and did all our paper work where I felt so sick I thought I would just stay and sleep in a dark corner somewhere at the border. Instead I asked some travelers on the shuttle if they had aspirin or Ibuprofen and they gave me some pill that I’d never heard of but helped immediately.
I spent three nights with fever in Leon and spent the days feeling hungover from the brain burnout the fever was giving me. I walked the town, walked the market, ate at the market, walked in a parade, and climbed a volcano just to slide down it at 25 mph on a piece of board;

and finally my last night when I thought I had defeated the fever I fucked Lien (I should mention that Lien was staying at the same hostel (red bandana chick), arrived the day before me, no longer mad at me) in the shower. Lien was so caring during my fever. She sat with me and rubbed my feet and wet her shirt with cold water and draped it over my forehead or chest. I was boiling hot and she was so concerned by it. I was concerned too but there wasn’t anything to be done. I guess I could’ve taken my antibiotics, but it made me uncomfortable to take them.

I thought I was over the fever so made plans to head to Matagalpa with Lien on the fourth morning. We left the hostel, walked a few blocks and asked directions, walked a few more and asked directions, and did the same until we walked up the busy bus street and hopped on our bus for Matagalpa.

Pulling into the city I immediately didn’t care for the looks of it. It did that thing that cities do, they either grab you or they don’t and Matagalpa didn’t. I guess I expected something smaller like Juayua, cobblestones and a condensed town, park, church. It was just another mid sized Central American city as far as I was concerned and not the kind of grit to stir my senses. Lien commented on how much more she liked it than Leon and when I said I didn’t like it she called me negative and told me I couldn’t base my opinion off of a bus station — strange how her good opinion was made from the same sights I saw to make my bad opinion, but good is always okay. She could be quarrelsome.

I can’t remember what we did that first day but the following morning I woke up feeling better than I did the day before. I’d beat the beast, or was getting the best of it. I was sweating the fucker out each night, and the sweat was decreasing. It rained the night we had got there and I remembered about the rain when I woke up and I remembered about my shoes which I left outside and when I finally pulled myself out of bed and looked at them they were sopping with puddles inside of them. I didn’t even care. At some point you just stop caring about small things like that. And at other points it’s those same small things that can finally break you, like Bukowski’s broken shoelace.

I pulled myself together, showered and decided I’d better get on with the trip and head to Granada (seeing as how I didn’t want to be in Matagalpa). Something was changing in me. I don’t know if it was the fever or what, but all of a sudden I’d wanted to be done with the trip and back home. I didn’t like anyone and I didn’t care about anything. Nothing was special.

But Lien convinced me to go on a hike with her. She couldn’t go on a hike alone for fear of rape so she could only do a thing like that if she had another person to do it with, preferably a male. I thought, what the hell, I probably needed a good hike to snap me out of my mood, I wanted to hike through the jungle anyway so found us a good hike. We drank coffee and ate breakfast and continued this back and forth debate over Love (can’t remember the specifics now 8 months later), the control you have over who you fall in love with, she said; or as I said, the control you have over who you WONT fall in love with, can’t control who you DO fall in love with, often no control over the who’s who sneak up on you, that we’d been having the night before. I finally had her at checkmate with her own examples which was fitting because she was sitting right next to a chessboard. We pulled ourselves together and headed out.
Cutting down the streets toward the bus station, her ahead and quick, too quick for me with my head which was feeling spacey and braintender, until finally I saw a parked car start rolling forward and had to stop and tell her it wasn’t a good idea for me to continue. She grew stormy real quick. Wow the way women grow stormy, you know when you’ve done it it’s unmistakeable; and sad how accustomed I am to stormy woman faces.

She was all set to hike and I fucked her day.

She let me know how bad I fucked her day real quick.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t feel good before we left? Shit man I could have did de hike with somebody back at de hostel ”
“I didn’t feel bad before we left, I just started to feel really dizzy right now, the car was moving. My head is really hurting now too”

“Ah shit man dis is why I don’t like traveling with people, dey always fuck up your plans”

We kept walking toward the bus station as if I was still going to go. Finally I said

“I’m gonna go back to the hostel. I can’t do the hike”

“I don’t even know where de fuck I am man”

“I can walk you to the bus station, it’s close”

“What am I gonna do with de bus station. I’m not going to do de hike by myself and get raped”

“You’re not going to get raped. It’s based out of a resort and they have guides if you don’t want to go alone”

“Man you don’t… I know so many girls who have been raped on dees trails”
“Okay, well, let’s go back to the hostel then. It’s not even 10 o clock. There’s still people there and you can still hike. It’s so early in the day”

“Dis is so fucked man. Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to go?”
I lost my temper
“Why the fuck would I pay for another night at the hostel, bring bug spray and aspirin in case I feel bad, and spend time finding out how to get here if I didn’t want to go. That’s so stupid. Obviously I wanted to go. I felt fine and now I feel like shit and I don’t want to come back from the hike with another fever. You’re being so selfish. You’re angry because I’m feeling sick and you’re yelling at me about how I ruined your day. You’re traveling man. You’re in Nicaragua, a poor country where I haven’t seen one person as angry as you look and their days can be much shittier. It’s one day. There’s so many other things you can do today. It’s so fuckin early right now. Your day is not ruined. You’re being a child. I’m sorry you can’t do the hike, but the day is just starting so let’s go back to the hostel”
“Everybody was leaving de hostel when we left there won’t be anybody there”
“Standing here in the street arguing is so pointless. You’re not going on the hike alone? Let’s go back to the hostel”

She was on the verge of crying and she said she needed time to think. We were at the right angle of a stone building so she sat on one side and I stood against the other side smoking a cigarette. To anyone walking by it must’ve been a nice sight. Two angry foreigners avoiding eachother, yet feet apart from eachother, on separate corners of a wall.
I couldn’t deal with her shit. It was my fault that she couldn’t do the hike, but it wasn’t my fault that I was hit with head pains and dizziness. I didn’t expect that. Some anger was warranted, frustration, disappointment, annoyance, whatever; but not as far as she took it. Like I told her, she was traveling and she had a traveling hangup, a minor one, very early in the day, the entire day still ahead of her. If she couldn’t turn the day into something fun, if her whole day was going to be grim and miserable than that part fell on her.

I turned the corner of the wall to look at her. It looked like she was crying. Ah fuck.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like dat. You’re right, I shouldn’t be angry at you if you’re feeling unwell”

“It’s fine, don’t cry”
“I feel like such a bitch”
“You’re not, you were just acting childish. It’s fine. Let’s go back to the hostel while it’s early.”
“It doesn’t matter. De day is already fucked. Nobody is going to be there”
And there we went again. Bullshit.
Finally I got her moving, and we walked back without speaking, her walking fast way in front. There were still people when we arrived at the hostel and I pointed that out, but she pointed out that they were all checking out. She told me to just get my money back and leave, and that was my plan anyway. I didn’t want to be around her anymore. I grabbed my bag and went to the reception and got my money back and thought about just walking out without looking at her at all, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I turned around, she was sitting at a table looking for other things to do “tings” as she pronounced it, in a little booklet the hostel had, when she motioned for me to go to the room.

She broke down with apologies. She felt really bad and told me she had had such a good time with me and she was going to miss me and that she had woken up feeling so strange and low (which she did tell me about that morning) (and she did start her first period off the pill in so many years of being on it, so hormonal), and how good it felt to have a friend like me to talk with. We parted ways like that.


August 27, 2016 § Leave a comment


I made it. After being made fun of by Aussies for trying to get to Utila, clear across Honduras and across the Caribbean to an island, Utila, for Halloween — they not understanding the goodtime funtime Halloween is back in the states, the event of it — I finally made it and just by a hair. I got to the station in La Ceiba at close to 430 and immediately hopped in a taxi with two other young Honduran girls headed to Utila for the party. The taxi driver called me papa and he called the girls mama and I liked that. I didn’t say much to the girls who were putting on makeup and chatting the whole way and when we got out we each grabbed our bags and bought our tickets and boarded different parts of the boat (me, economic upstairs on the open air sunny top boat, them first class in downstairs cabin). It was a new boat called the Utila dream, a white and yellow big sucker which got us there smooth, flanked by mangroves gliding above the water faster than the old scab we left behind, the Utila Princess.

An hour later we approached the island colorful pastel houses, on stilts; and approached the dock with groups of people standing around waiting for family and friends to step off the boat. A white guy with a Carib island accent approached me and asked if I was headed to Underwater Visions — I said yes and he led me to a free tuk tuk payed by the hostel which sped us down the night soon falling hard packed sand road crowded with dark skinned carib people, travelers with packs, red tuk tuks, quads, cars and trucks so that you had to keep your eye out for manic swerving drivers all the time.

I was happy to be in Utila. All of the children were dressed up in costumes and make-up, popping out of bushes trying to scare people. You could feel a buzz in the air. Or maybe that was just the island, but everybody was out on the streets and you could feel a bangtime party brewing, a real island Halloween festival.

The hostel Underwater Visions was the place to party. All the girls were painting their faces like Mexican skull girls and the guys were dressed up in girl’s clothes, it was all a big fun thing. I didn’t get there in time to put on face paint or figure out a costume. It’s not the thing I’d do alone anyway, paint my face all up and get drunk by myself. I didn’t have enough time or gumption to make friends. There were plenty of people on the sand at the bar drinking, laughing, chatting, playing games. I bought a beer and watched everything and everyone. Probably creepy. I finished my beer quick and left and bought a bottle of Flor de Cana rum and a few pints of beer from a market down the street to avoid the high bar charges at the hostel. I bought an energy drink to get me high and chatty for the big party at the beach end of the island later that night. I went back to my room and chugged the energy drink, opened my rum and drank half of that and walked to the big island Halloween Beach Party solo – well alone among hundreds of people, even tried to piggy back with a group of people but I didn’t fall in as one of them; so I paid my $5 entrance fee, killed the bottle of Rum, danced with a few girls just to fit in, smoked cigarettes as a gesture, for something to do and at some point said to hell with it and disappeared back to my dorm room. I’m guessing I fell asleep around midnight. The party continued up until daybreak and was a real jamming party I later heard. So much for my big journey to the island in time for Halloween.
Day 1 – Sunday
I woke up with a sort of hangover and checked out of that hostel immediately. I couldn’t stay in that crazy cramped dorm room for a week. I walked over to Paradise Divers.

Paradise Divers was laid back. The dive instructors always chilling in hammocks, after dives, with a big kawama, with roll your owns, very smooth. It was the type of place you felt at home at. My Dive teacher was Miki, a tall Italian with big green eyes that were heavy lidded and almost stoned, beach salty tangled yellow brown hair, grizzle faced with mustache, very stoner like though I never saw him smoke weed. He spoke in Spanish and in fact all the dive instructors spoke in Spanish even though they weren’t from Spanish speaking countries. They gave me a private room for real cheap and I spent all six of my days in that private room escaping Carib island humidity beneath the fan. The first day I smoked just about a whole pack of cigarettes while watching the first three instructional videos for my padi diving course, close to vomiting in the nearby waste basket from the hangover. I had to wait till the next day for more people to join my group before getting in the water. I didn’t care anyway because of the hangover, better to wait.

Day 2 – Monday

Time to Dive. I had a little smiley Israeli guy named Uri in my dive group, who reminded me of the most enlightened little Buddha with his happy innocent eyes. I had two others in my group as well – from Brazil, a couple, gypsies, a 37 year old with long receding blonde hair and green eyes and a cute little brunette with brown eyes who was only 20 but looked 15 — at night time the guy would wear stilts and walk the street banging a drum and the girl would play some type of reggae flute.

Diving was madness. Breathing underwater. Donning the scuba vest with all the apparatuses and the scuba tank to boot. All the things that could go wrong. The bends. Lungs Bursting. Eeeeep.

We had to do all kinds of crazy tests underwater. We had to learn the underwater hand signals, no talking underwater. We had to fill our goggles with water and blow it out our noses as we looked toward the sky in order to clear the mask. I panicked because I couldn’t fully blow the water out and somehow swallowed water and shot to the surface. We were in confined water so it wasn’t dangerous to shoot to the top but if we were in deep water I might’ve gotten real fucked up. We had to learn how to control our breathing in order to go up or down or hover in place. I had trouble with this too and kept floating to the surface (turned out I didn’t have enough weights placed on my belt).

Day 3 – Tuesday
Morning: Bought a fresh caught tuna for cheap from a salty old fisherman in front of the hostel. He fileted the fish and gave me the meat. I wrapped the fish in foil paper to save for dinner later that night.
Nightime: I couldn’t take the lowdown lonely feeling I had growing in me — the jaggerz song gotta find my way back home and tom waits’ i’m gonna take the long way home stuck in my head, on repeat — and walked across the street to the bar, a bar called la cueva, and ordered myself a Honduran beer called Life Saver, Salva Vida en Espanol; and sat drinking it alone at a table while pretending to pay attention to a soccer game on tv and bobbing my head lightly and tapping my fingers against my beer glass to any song I liked and watching everyone else in groups at tables having big chats. There was a pretty bartender but I’d given up on any attractive woman ever taking any interest in me so I didn’t even entertain the idea that she might get friendly with me. They never do, and when I try, they never do.

So I was an old salty scab at heart drinking and smoking too much and a table of people needed a table to drink at and asked me with head nods if it was okay if they sat with me and I nodded back yes. It was a 34 yr old Guatelmalteca and a 44 yr Swiss guy and two middle aged French guys and I mostly sat quiet but the Guatelmalteca struck a conversation and I was happy just to talk with somebody. At a point one of the old French guys told me I have a face of Tristessa and I told him that’s just my face, and everybody at the table looked to see my face and I told them, “es mi cara” with a half hearted laugh (thinking: that’s my face NOW, thinking: no wonder why all the girls and goodtime smiley people avoid me, mope, my fault, oh, but I can still flash a set of teeth and crease my eyes hey). I finished my caguama at the table with them, every so often being included in some of the conversation, and gave one of the guys a cigarette and told everyone goodbye before slinking off and goodnight.


But the next night I was sucking on the breasts of a 23 yr Belgian girl and how everything changes once you’re sucking on the breast of some cute thing you just met.

Day 4 – Wednesday

To begin: After my dive — and I’d noticed this Belgian cutie, glasses and bangs ash blonde hair with a nice set of breasts and legs, alone all the time, but never spoke to her; And! In fact, the night before when I had a mope face at the bar I saw her walk in and sit alone at the bar and as I was going to leave the table of people who sat down with me to go sit with her she got up and walked over to a group of chatters seated outside so I made no move — Anyway, after the dive I bought myself a big bottle of beer and brought out the Tuna I’d had left over from the day before, ate it cold, and got into a chat with this Belgian about her route to Nicaragua.

It was still light out when we started to chat and she was immediately friendly. Before she pulled me into her room she gave me all the signs — her legs were pointed toward me and she got closer and closer as the night went on, touching me on the arm or thigh every now and then, staring into my eyes. And I even made the comment at one point that I had terrible luck with women when traveling and that I’ve never hooked up once and had given up. Maybe this was her challenge, I don’t know. I didn’t bother making a move even after all of her signals. I told her how I’d received signals before and when I went to make the move, to go in for the kiss I got the cheek, the face turn, rejected, ouch. So I gave up. I told her I am who I am and it is what is and if it’s gonna happen it’s gonna happen and it doesn’t and I continue on with my life. So I made no move on her and finally told her I was going to bed and we both got up, it then something like midnight, and walked past her door where I said goodnight. She stared at me in the eyes and pulled me in.

We began kissing immediately. She was a strange kisser. It’s weird when you’ve kissed the same girl for six or seven years and all of a sudden you’re kissing a new one. Different style. No tounge at all. I didn’t like it, but I worked with it. I explored her with my hands, took off her bra, her cherry red bra that I loved to see, and to see her without, to lift up her dirty grey white tanktop and let the breasts fall out, firm and full and pink nippled though without the little bumps that I love so much — you know the little bumps that girls have on their areolas, the bumps like braille.

She didn’t let me get my hand down her pants for some reason so I didn’t know where to take the situation. We kept on kissing and finally she told me I should leave. I figured I did something wrong. It wasn’t awkward when I left. I told her goodbye and walked up the stairs to my room, feeling a bit confused. I laid in bed still hot over her breasts before falling asleep. There I was last night a mope. How everything changes once you’re sucking on the breast of some cute thing you just met.
Day 5 – Thursday

I had some dive questions to go over with the dive group and the instructor the next morning. I ran into Lien the Beligian girl afterwards and chatted with her for a bit. It wasn’t awkward and the night before wasn’t mentioned. I had two hours to kill before my dive and told her I was gonna nap. She said she was gonna do the same and when we walked past her door she pulled me into her room again. Same thing as the night before only this time I pushed her onto the bed and got her naked and gave it to her.

When fucking she would stare into my eyes — her eyes were a pale bluegreen and her pupils would dilate — and there was a fire in her eyes, she consumed my eyes with her eyes. I was staring into her pupils like black holes. She was a vampire, something primal and evil, some sort of black widow, some sort of siren. I would stare into her eyes with a fire to match, like I’ve never done before, and it urged me to really give it to her hard. Her eyes would burn hotter fixed on mine, and I told her with my eyes that I wanted to kill her sexually. It was a new experience.

And what a body she had. Her breasts so big and firm. Her areolas the perfect pink shade. Her nipples so painfully sensitive to my nibble so that she had to stop me. He waist ripe for grabbing and her little flat belly. It was a fun time in her bed and by the end, no fan carib island humid, I was drenched in sweat. I had maybe 1 hour before my dive and I had to walk out of her room with a sweaty face and a mop of sweaty curls which was weird. She was making little sex noises that anybody would of heard outside her window. I walked out of her room without looking around to see if anybody was watching me and walked straight up the stairs and into my room glad to have finally fucked on the road.




I was done with all the tests. We did three fun dives where we just swam around little canyons staring at all kinds of fish; Parrot Fish (my favorite), lobsters, a Moray Eel. But alas the ocean got the best of me. I started to feel sick on the heaving boat between dives. I didn’t throw up, though with much effort. We finished up and when I stepped back onto the dock my equilibrium was off, as if I was rocking at sea, on land. It was strange and almost drunklike without the mental or visual drunk.

I had sex with Lien for the second to last time that night. I handled her better now knowing her body better, and with more confidence and time to flip her around a bit. But whatever it was the ocean did to me that day, I just couldn’t finish and got tired and soft and finally just stopped. It’s always a weird feeling when that happens because you don’t want to offend the girl, but I was plain dizzy. It was strange. I ate her out until she came anyway, her big old Belgium bush that the girls in L.A don’t have. I don’t mind the bush but it’s terrible for eating pussy. I had her squirming and stopping me any old way, and happy because she’s never had an orgasm that way. We laid in bed touching for a bit before I told her I was getting tired and about to head to my room. Nice girl that she was decided to give me my own orgasm and gave me head, terrible terrible toothy head. No skills behind it. Just bad. But a mouth on my dick nonetheless so I came in her mouth and she spit it out and I split.

Well I didn’t split immediately come to think of it. She wanted me to travel with her for the long 15 hour trip to Leon Nicaragua the next day. She wanted to take public transportation and I was set on taking a quick but pricey one shot shuttle. She wanted me to go with her after I finished my last fun dives. We’d been going over the idea for the past two days and I wasn’t leaning one way or the other but I believe she got the idea that I was going to go with her. Well after she finished spitting me out and I told her I was gonna stay another night and take the shuttle she threw a little fit and told me to leave her room, angry, bitchy. So without saying anything I walked out.

I didn’t see her again until Leon, Nicaragua

Halloween to Make

November 29, 2015 § Leave a comment

We crossed the border — Catey taking forever to get her fingerprints right and cutting the quiet air of the lobby type room with her sharp high Aussie voice; and I’m just sitting on a chair in a row full of empty chairs (having already went through the process myself), still quite awestruck by her; watching her, with patience, waiting to be gone.

We walked up the road to the parked microbuses ready to take anybody to Copan for twenty Lempiras. We hopped in and waited for the thing to fill and took off.
Catey’s mouth hung open all the time and when she was asleep on the bus it hung fully open and I just stared at her feeling so strange in new countries with her next to me. How did this happen?

So I was stuck with Catey. We arrived in the town of Copan Ruinas twenty minutes later, asked directions to our hostel, found it, dropped our stuff and set out for the ruins. I didn’t want to be with her at the ruins so I tried to ditch her a few times. I walked quickly and explored the hallways and rooms of the ruins, trying to get myself lost, but she was always there, right behind me.

Fortunately she found another girl in the hostel and attached herself. I could breathe finally.

Copan Ruinas was a nice town with nice people; lovely people with a Guatemalteca feel, Guatemala being only twenty minutes away; yet different in a way I can’t quite describe, different in a way that said Guatemala wasn’t far but you were now in Honduras.

Ah wow – As I sit in the ferry, the Utila Princess, headed back to the mainland, La Ceiba, for a 15 hr shuttle to Leon Nicaragua who should I hear but my old pal Cate. Her voice startled me out of my writing and I looked up and saw her sitting a row in front and off to the side of me. I’m just gonna keep on writing with my head to the page, she didn’t see me see her, there’s no way she hasn’t spotted me though. Bah!

Back in Copan, Catey had her new girl pal and an Aussie from another dorm pal’ed along with us, another annoying Aussie, a real snarky one — both him and Catey made fun of me endlessly for wanting to spend Halloween somewhere cool like Utila; they poked fun so many times that I wanted to get smart with them, real sharp tongued but I didn’t want to make things tense so just let it all slide right off of me.

Not having done much in Copan and wanting to split for Utila in time for Halloween I left at 430 AM to catch a 5 AM bus to San Pedro Sula. I walked the thick misty dark damp streets while what sounded like hundred of roosters began to crow all at once; made it to the side of the main highway and waited. I had to shit. I had to shit so bad and was cursing myself the entire walk for not doing it before I left the hostel, but I didn’t have to go then. I had serious dialogues with myself about shitting somewhere off in the dark and using my small notebook paper to wipe. It sounded like a terrible idea, the small notebook paper. Ah the need to shit and not have a toilet or paper will get the best of any man or woman.

So I didn’t shit and somehow the feeling disappeared and my bus pulled up and I hopped in the empty dark bus with only one silhouetted passenger somewhere in the back and it being Honduras and the bus bound for San Pedro Sula I wondered if the dark figure in the back was going to sneak up and slit my throat. Just a passing thought.

We arrived at the big mall, American like mall, style terminal in San Pedro Sula where immediately upon exiting the bus I was being asked if I was headed to La Ceiba. Yes I was, so I followed the guy who ushered me into a lobby type waiting room for the hourly Diana Express. I had an hour to kill so walked to the food court and bought myself a shitty plate of chicken rice and Chinese sty —

Whoa, commercial break:

I’m writing all of this on the Utila Princess remember, and I spotted Catey. She just left from having a big chat with me. She finally came over and sat next to me and we exchanged
“what have you dones” and “where are you headeds” as always. It turns out her dad was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer and has maybe a year to live. She was crying and my eyes welled up so much and they well up as I write this (though not now as I type it). Annoying Aussie Cate wasn’t annoying at all that moment, the poor thing. Her heart was broken and it broke my heart and actually, yeah my eyes want to well up as I type this and really think back on how sad her face was. Jeez, my heart breaks for her. She had to quit her job and end her travels and was headed back to Guatemala for a few crazy long flights back to Australia.

Well, back to the main story:

I bought myself that shitty plate of food and bought myself a great banana smoothie (It was Catey who turned me on to rewarding myself with tasty things, specifically smoothies in El Tunco where my smoothie kick started). I finished all that back at the lobby room while I waited.

It was a 4 hr ride to La Ceiba where I nervously eyeballed peoples cellphones or watches for the time, wondering if I was going to make the ferry. It was getting late and we still werent in La Ceiba. Finally it stopped and I hopped off and hopped right in a taxi which took me to the ferry dock.

Travel Tips: El Salvador

November 1, 2015 § Leave a comment

  • El Salvador uses $US Currency. Change your Quetzales on the Guatemala side for a rate of 8 Q to $1 US
  • El Salvador didn’t charge me to enter
  • From the border walk up the road for five minutes and you’ll reach a parking lot of buses – most of them headed to Sonsonate
  • If you want to visit Juayua take an 80 Cent 2 hr bus — bus 259 — to Sonsonate from the border. In Sonsonate take a 50 cent 40 min bus — bus 249 — to Juayua. Casa Mazeta is a nice $10 hostel to stay out.
  • If you’re visiting Juayua try to visit on the weekend when the big food festival happens. Most plates are $5
  • It is very cheap, quick and easy to visit other small towns by bus along the Ruta de Flores from Juayua
  • If you want to visit El Tunco from the border you’ll need to take the 249 bus from the border to Sonsonate. Make sure you arrive in Sonsonate by 330 PM which is when the final bus — bus 287 — to El Tunco leaves. Otherwise you need to make sure you are at the crossroads for the coastal highway earlier than 4 PM so you could flag the bus down — bus 287 — from the side of the road.
  • Pupusas are decent and filling and shouldn’t cost more than 75 cents maximum — depending what’s in it and where you are at. I usually got bean and cheese pupusas for 50 cents.
  • A beer is $1 at most hole in the wall eating places
  • A surf lesson in El Tunco is $10 and a board rental for the day is $10
  • I felt like El Tunco might not have been the best place to learn for a beginner due to the endless somewhat sizeable waves that kept crashing into me when I would try to paddle out. Also, waaaay too many rocks.
  • El Tunco was quiet during the week. It’s supposed to be a wild party on the weekends.
  • Papaya lodge is a nice place to stay and charges you $8/night if you stay for more than two nights. Otherwise it is $10 a night.
  • Smoothies from the surfer shack are $2.50 and tasty.
  • Overall not much to do in El Tunco if you don’t surf.
  • I think a bus from El Tunco to La Libertad is either 25 cents or 50 cents. I hitched a ride from the road to La Libertad, which is easy to do, so I don’t know the price of the bus. It takes about 20 min to get to La Libertad from El Tunco.
  • From La Libertad you can catch a bus to San Salvador for 60 cents. The trip is about 45 minutes and you’ll need to ask the driver to let you off at the Occidente Station if you want to head to Santa Ana.
  • San Salvador was surprisingly clean and not dangerous or grimy looking at all. I had no interest in staying, but it wasn’t as bad as Guatemala City.
  • The bus from San Salvador to Santa Ana was 85 cents and took about two hours. Ask to be dropped off at the bus terminal.
  • I didn’t like Santa Ana. It wasn’t nice, a bit of a grungy mess and didn’t invite me to linger.
  • The The bus from Santa Ana to Metapan is 90 cents and takes about 1 hour.
  • Metapan seemed nice.
  • Metapan to the border of Guatemala (Anguiatu) is 55 cents and takes about 2 hours
  • There was no charge to leave El Salvador.
  • Overall I didn’t care for El Salvador. It didn’t have any noticeable zest or culture. Nothing alive about it. As soon as I left and headed back into Guatemala there was a distinct change in energy and my heart sighed with relief.

Hitchhiking to Chiquimula, Guatemala

November 1, 2015 § Leave a comment

I blasted my way out of El Salvador, First: out of El Tunco —

Walked out of small El Tunco up the dirt road to the highway with Shiv and the loud Aussie Catey who managed to tag along and was bound to spend the next few days with me on the same route, sigh.

We stood on the edge of the highway where I halfheartedly suggested we hitch while waiting for the bus to La Libertad. Shiv put his thumb out and not two trucks later we were riding in the back of a big industrial size truck standing on the bed of the pick up holding on to a metal bar while our faces were blasted with wind. There weren’t any sides to the truck bed so hold on cause a big pothole’d throw you off at the right speed or curve. It was 20 minutes to La Libertad where we hopped off with our bags and waited for buses — Shiv for his bus to El Cuco and Catey and me for our bus to San Salvador. Both of our buses pulled up at the same time and we said our goodbyes to Shiv and were on our way.

We pulled into San Salvador an hour later, missing our terminal and having to take a bus to backtrack to the Occidente Terminal where we caught a bus bound for Santa Ana.

Santa Ana was a grungy mess and we didn’t want to stay the night so we ate a quick meal and walked over to the terminal for the next bus to Metapan. We had just enough day light left to use Metapan as a sleeping base and wake up to finish the trip the next morning. Tired and high off of the idea to push all the way through to Copan, which was two borders and 4 hours away, we hopped right on the bus for Metapan and headed for the border. Meanwhile on the buses Catey and I sat in separate seats and I didn’t have to listen to her too much and was able to doze along the way. She was loud in an annoying way and a general complainer and spoke a terrible Spanish as if she didn’t want to attempt to make the accents.

We reached the Guatemala border at dark and went through all the passport border business before finding out we had missed the last bus to Chiquimula, our next stop on the route to Copan. Still high off the idea that we could make it to Copan, and high off the idea that we had hitchhiked in El Salvador, and high off the fact that we had even went as far as we did we decided to try hitching a ride. We stood at the exit point for the trucks and few vehicles that were passing through and I stuck my thumb out. Each truck driver told me he was only headed further up to sleep so we walked over to a little store shack on the side of the road and I bought two single cigarettes with my last few dimes and I smoked them while Catey ate a piece of cake.

While we sat there a group of heavily armed security guys approached us and asked us where we were trying to go. I told them Chiquimula and they were headed that way so told us to hop in the back of their pickup. Great, we were speeding down a potholed road through the jungle in Guatemala at night in the back of a pick up truck; cool wind blasting our faces and chatting side by side with Catey and actually finally accepting her as my traveling partner and getting over the annoying bits and really being okay with her.

They dropped us at a crossroads for Chiquimula and we didn’t know what to expect as there was nothing really around. They told us it was just up the road so we headed that way and ran into a line of microbuses. I asked one of the drivers how far it was to the bus station and whether there were still buses from Chiquimula to Florido, the Honduran border, and whether it was safe enough to walk the streets to get to the bus station. I was told that it was safe, more or less, but be careful; and that there were still buses to the border and that it was only ten blocks or a fifteen minute walk. He gave us a price to take us and I declined and as we walked away he hailed us back and gave us a lower price so we took it and got dropped off at the station. It looked sketchy and there weren’t any buses to the border and we were stuck without a plan. I wouldn’t have done any of this alone, but I abandoned any concerns having Catey with me.

We had no other choice but to spend the night. We found a cheap motel and shared a two bed room, dropped our bags and went out for food. Chiquimula was the Guatemala that I didn’t get to experience on the backpacker trail. Chiquimula was grungy in the best way; dogs and street food; trash everywhere; the night alive with people getting ready for next morning’s Thursday market affair; their faces which I love so much and so glad to be out of El Salvador and even Catey, it being her first time in Guatemala, commented on the immediate difference in energy in the people and place in general. We accidentally bought ground beef tacos from a beautifully sweet lady who saw us eyeballing the carne asada wishing we could have got carne asada instead and she cut us a few small pieces of put it on our plates no charge. We had food and beer on the sidewalk as we watched the night go by — a Mayan girl closing up shop and her family pulls up in a pick up and they load tables and chairs and they are all crammed together in the back of the pick up and she sees me watching and laughs at herself and what I must be thinking of such a crazy scene and I laugh too and we just keep laughing as they pull away.

The next morning we walked through the crazy packed market and bought fruits and tamales for breakfast before catching our bus to the Honduran border at El Florido. I was sad to leave Guatemala again and was close to staying. At least I had gotten a taste of the Guatemala I wanted to see, and such a small taste that it left a hunger in my heart, a hunger to return and even a hunger to live there (ideas of a Mayan wife and Mayan children and living in a palm thatched hut with dirt floor and chickens and goats).

The microbus to Copan was a two hour ride through the rolling green beauty of Guatemala. Quick exit process in Guatemala and quick entry (67 Lempiras or 40 Quetzales payment) into Honduras (which had a suprisingly nice entry office with fingerprint scanners and they take your photo and scan your passport). As a matter of fact all that bad news that I hear about borders and not one border that I’ve crossed has felt dodgy. It’s all been good. Pretty, pretty good.

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