On the Varieties of Nature - Alex Kent
Obadiah Walker, writing in the 17th century, recommended travel abroad to:
"...learn the Languages, Laws, Customes, and understand the Government, and interest of other Nations... To produce...

Leg 1
London, United Kingdom
After two rather stressful days of packing and preparing, during which Dave was an absolute hero, providing constant advice and emotional support, I said my tearful goodbyes to home and the boy himself and headed down to Heathrow on 15th with Ma and Pa, where we met Gertie at the hotel. I will readily admit to feeling pretty daunted and upset by the whole situation, but a Bloody Mary and a couple of glasses of red calmed my nerves somewhat. And having seen the menu, which charged £17 for a portion of shepherd´s pie, I was encouraged that leaving the country might have its benefits! Plus, the few days of English sunshine had once more resorted to torrential rain, so my imminent departure was looking up.
The following morning seemed to fly by, and all too soon I was shedding yet more tears outside departures. The delights of British Airways ensured that I had a good few hours extra to pull myself together though, and four hours late I was finally in the air on the way to Miami. In between snatched minutes of sleep, and a great viewing of Blades of Glory, I got chatting to Simon, the greatest air steward ever, who had studied Spanish in Antigua about 20 years ago and enthused about it so much I couldn´t help but get quite excited. He also introduced me to another girl on the plain who was returning to Guatemala City (her home town) after a year studying in Madrid, so she and I had a good chat and agreed that after our late departure, making the connection in Miami was going to be a challenge.....
written by  Alex Kent on August 16, 2007 from London, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: On the Varieties of Nature

The Transfer
Miami, United States
Hot. That was pretty much the only impression of Miami I had time for.
Having practically sprinted off the plane, we (my new friend and I!) found a very helpful lady in arrivals who cheerfully told us we had almost certainly missed our connection and handed us each a piece of paper containing the hotel reservations which had been made on our behalf, and the time of the alternative flight tomorrow. Great. In small print at the bottom of the page it said, somewhat sardonically, "If you do wish to try and make your flight, go to gate D39". So we hurried through customs with as much agitated urgency as it was possible to convey without seriously pissing off some edgy American officials and hurried on to Gate D39 just in time to join the queue boarding the plane.
written by  Alex Kent on August 16, 2007 from Miami, United States
from the travel blog: On the Varieties of Nature

Bags Can´t Run
Guatemala, Guatemala
So we made it. Hardly surprisingly though, our bags didn´t. At first I thought my baggage label hadn´t made it either but I found it just before panic set in and managed to log my claim with the charmingly apologetic men at American Airlines. (Thank god, I thought, I had had the foresight to put the address and phone number of the Spanish School in my hand luggage.) They assured me that the problem was probably purely due to our rushed connection in Miami and that there was another flight tomorrow which would hopefully come bearing our stuff.
So I headed out to arrivals and was greeted by Sergio, the driver from the school. Thanks to another essential hand luggage inclusion (phrase book and dictionary, thanks Davey!) I greeted him in return and together we lamented my "equipaje perdido". Despite being only 6.45ish pm it was almost totally dark, so my impression of Guatemala City as we set off in our little mini bus was fleeting. A powerful smell of rubber on the warm night air as we passed the landing strip. Colonial stone arches. Palm trees.
As we headed out of the city the smell of fast food drifted in, not McDonalds-like, but exactly the smell of food at funfares, which seemed simultaneously familiar and very exotic! This was swiftly followed by the overwhelmingly disgusting smoke from throngs of the old American school buses which have been adopted as public transport. And so, amid the chaotic 1 / 2 / 3 lane traffic, accompanied by the whistles of traffic police all but invisible in the darkness, optimistically waving tiny torches, we aimed for Antigua.
written by  Alex Kent on August 16, 2007 from Guatemala, Guatemala
from the travel blog: On the Varieties of Nature

Back to School
Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala
So, Antigua.
As I write this I have been here for almost a week and a half and the place is beginning to feel, if not like home, at least comfortingly familiar.
Your arrival in Antigua is impossible to overlook, as it is marked by an abrupt encounter with cobbled streets, which, combined with the unerring speed at which some people seem to drive, may well explain the clapped-out nature of most of the cars here. Upon arrival we went straight to my host family´s home, where a slightly frazzled Clemencia greeted me (all previously prepared phrases of polite small talk swiftly abandoned me) and asked me to wait a few minutes as my room was not quite ready. She speaks no English, but somehow I managed to catch on and sat in the kitchen, too spaced out by my journey to be nervous and therefore also to take much in, but I clearly remember Eric and Daniel, Clemencia´s two sons, sneaking curious glances at me round the door.
I had my first lesson the following afternoon, so spent my first morning drifting around town trying to get my bearings, and quickly appreciating why Antigua has a good reputation.
Surrounded by three impressive volcanos, the town retains its colonial architecture and a huge number of the streets are punctuated by the grand ruins of numerous churches. Guatemaltecans mingle with hoards of foreign language students, indigenous Mayans peddle their wares and the ubiquitous "tourist police" hang around chatting and keeping a quiet eye on things. I found my language school and registered, then returned to mi familia for lunch. We spend the first few days battling through meal times with the heavy use of a dictionary and a phrase book, while Clemencia explained to me what I was eating. Black beans (which taste very similar to kidney beans) make up a very important part of the diet - served with rice; whole in a thin soup; as a paste with the consitency of humous and in numerous other ways - and all very delicious. Maize is also ubiquitous, in all sorts of forms which I haven´t figured out the names of yet, but which include tortillas, and a delicious thin porridge (rather like Ready Brek) which I have been given for breakfast quite a few times. So far everything I have eaten has been enjoyable and interesting, and I have avoided any tummy problems!
My lessons are going well - some days are naturally better than others, but I have made sufficient progress to be able to follow the vast amount of Spanish that is directed at me - it´s a totally different ball game to try and follow someone else´s conversation! - and to hold a basic conversation, which makes meal times a lot easier! Classes take place in a pretty little courtyard full of beautiful flowers and with a fountain tinkling away in the centre. We are all taught one to one, and the lessons are totally flexible - today we spent almost the entire time in conversation about whatever cropped up, and at other times we spend most of the time covering grammer and doing practice exercises.
Having started classes on a Friday afternoon (nearly all lessons take place in the morning, and most new students arrive on Mondays), I hadn´t met anyone so spent Saturday drifting around seeing some sights, and sitting in the central park which is always bustling with students and locals alike.
A huge, noisy parade of school children passed, with what appeared to be a mini beauty pageant at the front, followed by various marching bands and dancers so the town was ringing for about an hour as they marched around the park. On Sunday I met an Erica, a travel writer, who speaks fluent Spanish and has recently completed a guide book on Nicaragua, so I spend an interesting day with her, exploring some of Antigua´s many eateries and cafes and chatting about life as a traveller!
Cerro de la Cruz (the hill of the cross) overlooks the town and the tourist police accompany groups who wish to walk up there every afternoon. (The group was introduced to try and deter muggings and other attacks in the more remote tourist hotspots, and since their introduction a few years ago safety in the town has apparently dramatically improved.) The view from the hill is beautiful, and we were blessed with a clear sunny afternoon.
Antigua has so far proved an ideal start to my trip.
Studying the language is obviously going to be a big help, but it´s also already allowing me to appreciate in more depth what I am seeing and doing. Being able to exchange even a few words with the locals is really rewarding, and they are always very pleased to chat. Being at school is also a great way to meet other people and find companions for exploring the area, making trips and planning my onward journey. The town is fun - foreign enough to feel like I´m away and to practice my Spanish and experience different cuisines and customs, but also developed and touristy enough to act as a safe and comfortable base until I find my feet a bit.
My camera has now given up so more photos will have to wait until next time, and I have some errands to run before I go home for supper, but I will be back soon with tales of my weekend jaunt to the beautiful black beaches of El Salvador.
written by  Alex Kent on August 16, 2007 from Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala

El Salvador
El Zonte, El Salvador
On the basis of some excellent advice, a group of us decided to spurn the school-organised trip to Monterrico (a town on the Pacific coast of Guatemala) and head instead to the chilled out surf resort of El Zonte in El Salvador. There, we were assured, it was actually possible to get in the sea and swim (the rip tides in Monterrico make it impossible), the locals were welcoming and unjaded by mass tourism, and the resort, Horizonte, was fabulous.
True, true and true.
The four hour drive was a great chance to take a look at the gorgeous rural scenery of both countries - ranging from forested mountains to dusty little shanty villages, and verdant lowland cattle pastures which almost look like home, until you realise that the trees scattered around the field aren´t oaks but palms. Very strange.
The border crossing was great - my first experience of a non-airport arrival, and what a good one! Hoards and hoards of market stalls selling seriously dodgy looking fruit, clothes, water, shoes, evrything under the sun, including the last comida tipica before you leave Guatemala. Blokes with huge stacks of grubby dollars in hand try and get you to change your last Quetzales and everything is chaotic and loud and dusty. Fabulous! Unfortunately the Guatemalan entry stamp allows access to El Salvador as well and depite our best efforts to charm him, the official wouldnt indulge our request for an extra stamp to add to our passports! Suspicions were aroused when the search of our van revealed a stockpile of dog food in the back (I´m still not entirely sure what it was doing there, I think the drivers brother has a pet shop or something - as dodgy as it sounds it genuinely was completely innocent!) but it seems that as soon as you explain you are a tourist group they are totally disinterested - apparently only locals are capable of smuggling drugs!
As we approached the coast and saw the beginnings of the pounding surf which make the coastline around La Liberdad increasingly popular, we got a real sense of summer holiday excitement - I think there was even some singing in the bus!
On arriving we weren´t dissapointed. The "resort" is a little collection of residential properties, beach shack hotels and sea front bars but the charm is all in the ruggedness. As seems to be the case everywhere in Central America, everything is dusty. The roofs are either corrugated tin or palm fronds and most of the public `buildings´ are open-sided and sand-floored. I finally felt like my trip was beginning.
We spent a blissful weekend swimming, surfing (I´ve got the injuries to prove it!), dancing, drinking, eating, sunbathing and generally rueing the fact that we had to return to the city and our classes on Monday. On Saturday afternoon we visited Las Olas (the waves) - a hotel down the coast which has a sea water pool where you can stand on the edge and let the full force of the wavres break against you and send you flying backwards into the water. Endless entertainment! Pupuserías - thick hand made tortillas stuffed with queso (cheese), carne ("meat"!) and frijoles (beans) - from a street side stall are a revelation, although the Salvadoran method of opening them up to fill them with salsa inevitably results in burnt fingers. But wow, how delicious. I´m giving myself hunger pangs just thinking about them.
written by  Alex Kent on August 24, 2007 from El Zonte, El Salvador

Antigua 2
Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala
So, some more observations.
Butterflies ... abundant and incredibly beautiful here. There are some whose lemon yellow wings are so unnaturally vibrant that every time I see one I assume it is a bit of rubbish blowing around. Others are a Bright tangerine Orange, and some are patterned with black stripes against a similarly citrus background. Unfortunately, they seem to be far busier than English butterflies and so far I haven't been able to find one settling long enough to snap a photo. Wretched things.
Election fever ... national general elections are taking place at the beginning of September, and the whole country is awash with political proPaganda. There are 14 different presidential candidates from 14 different parties - imagine the chaos! Endless pick-uptrucks loaded with loud speaker systems and A-boards, and plastered with posters are driving through every town, shouting their message or else just blaring loud music in the hopes that it will win you over! Even in the depths of the countryside, farm houses, trees and even rocks have been painted with slogans and logos and the newspapers are covering it endlessly.
Fountain ... the fountain in the Central Park is famous for its rather naughty statuary (see photo). I asked a couple of people and apparently there is no Pagan symbolism of fertility or anything else so wholesome - it was merely the voyeuristic Spanish conquistadores filling the town with 'their type of art'. Charming.
written by  Alex Kent on August 27, 2007 from Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala

Into the unknown .....
Panajachel, Guatemala
After two weeks of Spanish school I had made friends with quite a few people, and four of us (Laura, Jaime, Jana and myself) decided to head on to the next part of our trip together, so on 1st September we caught a shuttle up to Lage de Atitlan. This beautiful highland lake has formed in a collapsed volcanic crater, and covers about 200sq miles. Like Antigua, it is surrounded by three imposing volcanoes and it is absolutely, staggeringly beautiful. We spend our first night in the main town on the lake, Panajachel, where the majority of tourist traffic arrives and departs. The place is bustling and fun, with some great live music (Daddy, think Paolo Conte but Spanish - equally gravelly and supercool- the singer sipped rum and smoked cigarettes throughout the night!) and beautiful views over the water.
The following day we caught a chicken bus to Chichicastenango, the site of Guatemala's most famous market which offers everything from livestock (hang two cockerels upside down by their legs and sagely nod while you compare their weight) to vegetables to second hand clothes to broken loud speakers and other useless nicknacks to traditional clothing and craft goods.
The whole day is absurdly hectic and fascinating - particularly if you venture away from the tourist oriented stalls into the central food market, where chickens run around piles of gorgeous vegetables, and the air is heavy with the chatter of Mayan dialects and the smoke from endless comedores cooking meat and tortillas. Oh, and the less atmospheric smell of boiling soup with a whole chicken foot sitting perkily in the middle. My favourite! Our journey home was a genuinely 'local' experience. Chicken buses are chaotic at the best of times, but this was so full that we were standing in the central isle clinging on for dear life as the driver hurtled unforgivingly round the hairpin mountain bends and we tried to avoid landing on one of the three or four people squeezed onto each seat on either side of us. Needless to say we all got pretty hysterically giggly, which made it all the more challenging when we tried to capture the moment on camera.
More transportation excitement came on our return to Panajachel and the lancha (little motor boat with cabin) over the lake to San Pedro. The winds tend to pick up mid afternoon and whip the surface of the lake into small but choppy waves and so it was that once again we were hurtling at break neck speed being thrown around all over the place and once more gettling the giggles as we tried to take photos and got sprayed with every crash landing.
San Pedro is a hippy little town on the other side of the lake, heavily populated by bohemian travellers who have settled permanently and (in the case of the older generation) live in little huts amid the maize and banana plants doing ostensibly nothing or (in the case of the younger generation) sit on the pavements all day making jewellery from wood and shells. Despite all this madness, it's a fun little town with some good hostels, some fun bars, more fabulous views and some seriously good food.
Over the water at the even more 'alternative' San Marcos, we spend a great afternoon jumping off cliffs into the lake, swimming, sunbathing and exploring the settlement, much of which has no real roads but just dirt tracks between the maize, bananas and avodado plantations.
written by  Alex Kent on September 1, 2007 from Panajachel, Guatemala

Back to Antigua
Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala
Back to Antigua for a couple of days.
Trek up nearby active volcano called Pacaya ... full details to come.
P.S. I sincerely apologise to my loyal fans for the severe time lapse since my last post - this is now being remedied. And I would further like to apologise for the lack of photos in the forth coming entries. Limitations of internet availability and storage space have contributed to a brief breakdown in the system, but all the photos are hopefully winging their way to safe storage in England in a matter or hours, from where I should be able to get hold of them and upload them so you can just look at the pretty pictures and ignore the words. x
written by  Alex Kent on September 6, 2007 from Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala

The Journey North
Coban, Guatemala
My third and final impression of Guatemala City, where we (Jana, from Spanish school, and I) had a bus change-over on our journey north, did nothing to convince me of any redeeming merits, but people-watching in a bus station is always rewarding, and the sheer number of locals who constantly seemt o be making long cross-country journeys still confuses me - the National Express services certainly don't sell out, hour upon hour. Where are they all going?
The journey to Coban was uneventful in itself, but rendered memorable by our unfortunate seating allocation, which placed us directly beneath the only working speaker on the whole bus which, because of its solitary task, was cranked to full volume and played local adverts and maddening Central American pop non-stop for four hours.
Coban itself was also unremarkable, but the parque central boasted a pupuseria (see El Salvador) which more than justified our evening stroll, and we even managed to find a cash machine which actually dispensed cash - a minor miracle in most areas. The follwing morning saw the arrival of the long-awaited election day, and ushered in a weekend of national inactivity - Saturday to vote, and Sunday to celebrate the end of the 24hr drinking ban (but of course). As a result, public transport was expected to go to pot and most travellers we had met were planning to sit the weekend out and get on the road again on Monday. Determined to press on however, we asked around and heard that there might be a bus departing early on the Saturday morning for Lanquin - the town we needed to reach, so we booked a 5.30am taxi to the bus station .... naturally the only time Guatemaltecans are ever early is when you have just crawled out of bed bleary eyed at 5.15 in the morning, so half asleep we arrived in town and found a very suggestable minibus driver who seemingly on the spot agreed to run a service to Lanquin. Miracle of miracles, we noticed me was parked right outside a panaderia where, miracle of miracles, an angle of a lady was just stocking the shelves with freshly baked banana bread and boiling her first batch of coffee. Evidently fortune was on our side!
written by  Alex Kent on September 8, 2007 from Coban, Guatemala

To Lanquin
Lanquin, Guatemala
The bus to Lanquin quickly filled up with locals, all animatedly discussing the forthcoming elections. As a nation they seem to have an incredible propensity for cheerfulness despite the ungodly hour of the busyness (business?) of the buses. Lanquin - when we finally made it down the the steep, bumpy, swervy, hardcore track - was hectic - small, dusty and, in the absence of any nice tourist-oriented signposts, totally counterintuitive, but a friendly man quickly came and offered us transport to his new hostal which looked gorgeous and proved to be just that. Three little two-storey wooden cabins nestle in flourishing gardens above the river, and 30 seconds from the entrance to Semuc Champey national park - the sole reason for our trek into this part of the country. There couldn't have been a better location. Semuc had been recommended to me by a friend and it exceeded expectations - a natural limestone bridge 30m long sits at the bottom of a beautiful deep wooded valley. Most of the river's impressive force flows beneath the limestone, but a little runs over the top, creating a stepped series of exquisite turquoise pools - ideal for floating on your back and admiring the butterflies floating in the dappled sunbeams and listening to the screeches of spider monkeys in the surrounding trees.
Just over the river from our hostel ("El Portal") were the Las Marias caves which one can tour by candlelight - and so it was, that I foudn myself swimming (rather lopsidedly) through a pitch black cave as I struggled to keep a lighted candle aloft with one hand and keep myself afloat with the other. As if that wasn't enough, the tour included climbing up a raging underground waterfall, scrambling over rocky outcrops with unseen potholes disappearing into nothingness (lit candle between teeth - thank god my hair was wet by this point) and, to top it all, our guide suddenly disappeared into the gloom to reappear (or at least his light reappeared) suspended impossibly several metres above our heads from where he plunged into the blackness and landed with a splash in an unseen pool. For some reason I decided it was a leap of faith worth making, so I followed in his steps and clambered up the wall of the cave to balance on a precipice - unable to stand up because I'm too close to the roof of the cave, heart thumping, sick with adrenaline - and somehow convinced myself to launch forward, aiming for a spot the guide was vaguely illuminating in the inky water. Terrifying, probably crazy, but the most fantastic 'two fingers' to health and safety regulations, and utterly exhilarating.
written by  Alex Kent on September 9, 2007 from Lanquin, Guatemala

In Search of History
Tikal, Guatemala
Our long journey north from Semuc to Flores was interrupted by a mission of mercy to rescue our driver's cousin, who we had passed by chance, passed out at the wheel of his pickup which was on its side in a ditch, its axles at an impossible angle but, testimony to Jeremy Clarkson's exhaustive experiments into the durability of Toyota trucks (if you've seen that episode you'll know what I mean), 20 minutes later it was somehow back on the road and, to our horror, being driven onwards by said cousin who, reeking of alcohol, cheerfully told us that he had been out last night "celebrating" the birth of his new son. Oh dear.
Highlights of Flores included the fabulous 'Los Amigos' hostel and a curious pageant we stumbled across - part 'Miss Flores', part debutante 'coming out', accompanied by the ubiquitous school marching band. The real reason for our trip up here though was a visit to the Mayan ruins at Tikal, so at 4.30am we headed into the jungle to climb the impressive but unimaginatively named 'Temple 4' and watch the Sunrise to the sound of the jungle awakening. The Sunrise, as it turned out, was all but obscured by fog, but the gradual crescendo of screeching parrots and roaring howler monkeys rising from the darkness is something I will never forget. Once the sun was up we set off to explore the vast expanse of jungle and ruins amid the baking heat and suffocating humidity. Jana and I decided to dump our tour group - 30+ people, crashing through the undergrowth, jostling to hear the same explanation and photograph the same toucan - and spent a blissful few hours soaking up the tranquil, ancient atmosphere. We even managed to navigate our way back to our bus without too many complications.
written by  Alex Kent on September 11, 2007 from Tikal, Guatemala

To The Sea ...
Livingston, Guatemala
From Flores we took a bus south down the eastern border of Guatemala to Rio Dulce, a town at the seaward end of Lake Isabel, and a popular hang out with sailing types, who come up-river from the Caribbean. We caught a boat over to our hotel - a sweet little wooden place built on decking over the mangroves at the edge of the lake and spent a couple of days relaxing, kayaking, swimming in the unnaturally warm waters, and visiting local marvels - a thermal waterfall (and by thermal I mean hotter than I would choose to have my shower) which plunges into a cold water pool in a verdant, sunny little valley at the nearby Finca Paraiso. So nearly a slice of paradise, it was somewhat ruined by the overwhelmingly sulphrous smell of the hot water, but fun nonetheless.
Boats from Rio Dulce travel down river
through the gorgeous scenery to Livingston, a small port town on the Caribbean coast, where we spend our last night in Guatemala sampling the local seafood.
written by  Alex Kent on September 13, 2007 from Livingston, Guatemala

Over the Border
La Ceiba, Honduras
Leaving for Honduras was sad - I loved every minute of my month in Guatemala and would really recommend it to anyone thinking of visiting Central America. So diverse, culturally and geographically, and without fail interesting and entertaining.
However, diving called, so we began the complicated slog to La Ceiba on the north coast of Honduras (boat, bus, border crossing, bus, taxi, bus, taxi) and were rewarded by the most fabulous street food of the trip so far. A simple churrasco from a street grill (indeterminate cut of beef, fried rice, black beans, fried plantain, cheese, tortillas) but every single element was perfectly done and the inspired addition of delicious creamy fresh avocado created a gastranomic marvel! As you will probably notice in the forthcoming pages, food has become something of a fixation, and really good food never goes unrecognised!
written by  Alex Kent on September 16, 2007 from La Ceiba, Honduras

Island Paradise
Utila, Honduras
At 9am the following morning I was on a ferry to Utila (one of the Bay Islands off the Caribbean coast of Honduras) with Jana and some others we had met in Livingston, and eagerly awaiting the next stage of the trip. As we approached the port and the smell of salty air arrived on a damp breeze that battled with the sun to keep us cool, and I felt deeply nostalgic and recognised that our annual family holidays in Rhosneigr are one of my deepest and happiest memories,
so it was in a cheerful mood that I disembarked and battled through the wall of reps from the Utila Dive Centre (a bit too polished, a bit too smarmy) to find someone representing Alton's Dive Centre - another excellent recommendation from the same source as the Semuc Champey tip, thank you Rob. Duly accompanied by a couple of really friendly dive shop staff we wandered down the road past brightly painted, typically Caribbean wooden chattel houses - all riddled with evidence of Utila's string marine heritage - to our accommodation, right on the dive centre's private dock, with a room which quite literally opened on to the sea. I booked an advanced course to start the next morning, and so began a week of blissful happiness and great fun, diving, sunning, drinking and enjoying the island lifestyle.
The reef in Utila is truly beautiful, healthy and varied, and the diverse underwater topography around the island makes for really, really enjoyable diving. Regrettably we didn't spot a whale shark, but amongst other things we saw a huge pod of 50 or more spinner dolphins, a few turtles, baby spotted drums and my absolute favourite - juvenile damsel fish, which are almost impossible to photograph as they are very shy and love hiding in the treacherous fire coral, but are tiny, inky blue/black, and covered in irridescent electric blue spots. Adorable. I did a deep dive to 40m and a wreck dive which were both great fun, but best of all was exploring in the light and warmth of 12-18m where there is an abundance of life. I should also mention my night dive which was a real highlight - it is impossible to capture, but the overriding impression was of utter peace - the silence and privacy of being suspended in complete blackness, your only reality the little patch of reef illuminated by your torch.
You totally forget that you are underwater, and it feels like the only other creatures in the world are the various shrimps and squirrel fish caught in the spotlight before you. The odd glimpse out from the reef wall into the deep sees flashes of blue phosphorescence punctuating the darkness and when we sat on the bottom and turned off our torches completely, you could see that every movement is followed by a trail of light as the plankton is disturbed.
Up on the surface too, Utila had a lot to offer. Geoff, the crazy Texan who ran the bar at Alton's was a constant source of entertainment and good company, and was always cooking up some delicious treat which he would spend half the day talking about so that by the time it was actually prepared, it was all you could do not to order several. He was rivalled by some other great eateries though, from RJs grill, which cooked up FABULOUS fish steaks on the barbeque every Wednesday, Friday and Sunday (yes, I did go three times in my week) to the local street stands whose specialities were balleadas - a big soft tortilla, folded over and filled with refried beans, cheese, sour cream and, joy of joys, at our favourite stand ..... avocado! Mouth watering. Incidentally, RJs was directly across the road from Alton's and run almost exclusively by Alton's staff who would take pre-orders if you were doing a night dive and serve up a sizzling plate the second you got out of the shower after coming off the boat - genius.
It's low season in the whole of Central America because of the rains, but so far that has only proved a massive positive - lower prices, smaller groups and generally a much less touristy vibe, and Utila was no exception. There were enough great people to make a couple of bars really sociable and fun by night but by day the atmosphere remained very laid back and quiet which suits me perfectly.
Before I move on from Honduras I must just mention one bar - 'Treetanic' - 15 years of work have gone in to building it so far and it is exquisite - utterly magical. Built into a network of treehouses, platforms, walkways, steps, arches, tunnels and patios, every surface is decorated with an intricate mosaic of mirrors, tiles, glass stones, shells, miniature sculptures and almost anything else you can think of - prancing around with my mai tai cocktail I truly felt like I was in some kind of fairy kingdom.
Basically, it was with great difficulty that seven days after arriving I dragged myself onto the 6.20am ferry to make the journey overland to Tegucigapla, the capital, en route to Nicaragua. Utila, I will be back.
written by  Alex Kent on September 17, 2007 from Utila, Honduras

Local Flavour
Somotillo, Nicaragua
After a one-night stopover in Tegus (grim - redeemed only by the fact that I had company in the form of a guy called Pete who I met on the bus, Jana and I having sadly parted ways after Utila, and by the fabulous rice dish we ate at 'La Terraza de Don Pepe') I made the insane border crossing to Nicaragua. Hectic doesn't come close. From the minute the bus pulled close to immigration and the money changers spotted a gringo onboard, the vehicle was engulfed by screaming men fighting for my business. By the time I had battled through them and turned round to retrieve my luggage from the roof it had gone - but luckily only as far as a nearby tuktuk whose opportunist driver had snaffled it to assure my custom. Given the situation I decided to go with it, and told him in no uncertain terms to stick to my side while I dealt with everything else. Getting into my stride, I screamed at the crazy men to shut up and be civil while I got my passport stamped and managed to be so indifferent and determined that one of them, accordingly to my calculations and his disgruntled colleagues, actually ended up changing my currency at a loss to himself!
Savvy traveller - 1
Intimidating Nicas - 0
The drama didn't stop there though. My bus onwards, delayed by an hour while some locals stufed it to the gunnels with some undefined cellophaned packages from the market, was raided by the police who were less than impressed by what they found and proceeded to unceremoniously confiscate everything on the bus - except my bag, which he deemed harmless. Cottoning on to this, the women around me started passing stuff my way to be subtly secreted about my seat, out of suspicion's way, and they got away with it ... so I am now presumably guilty as accessory to some breach of import laws or something. Meanwhile all hell was breaking loose behind us as two women, clearly watching their dubiously earned fortune slipping through their fingers, went at it hammer and tongs hurling blame at each other and screaming abuse across the bus. Just as the poor harried policeman rushed up to intervene, "Tranquillo, tranquillo, que pasa? Calma, calma!", one woman burst out of her seat and flew down the bus in full fight mode and started clawing at her adversary's face. A gripping struggle ensued and ended with the policeman wrestling her off, handcuffing her and escorting her, spitting and sobbing, off the bus. Welcome to Nicaragua!
written by  Alex Kent on September 25, 2007 from Somotillo, Nicaragua

Art in a Hot Climate
Leon, Nicaragua
Having arrived unscathed I spent a couple of hot, hot days in colonial Leon (how is it possible that crossing a border can have such a dramatic effect on the ambient temperature?) where the highlight was a fabulous art gallery who's name utterly escapes me. They had a great collection of Central and Latin American works, ranging from amateur college pieces to Picassos, and some really wonderful modern pieces. One of my favourites was a scene in an art gallery with a huge, excellent reproduction of Picasso's 'Guernica' hanging on the wall, and the characters from Velazquez's 'Las Meninas' milling about the parquet flooring in front of it - a really fun, clever piece that kept me smiling all afternoon. Unfortunately photography wasn't allowed, and nor were handbags, so I didn't have a piece of paper to hand to make a note of any artists' names. I'll just have to go back I suppose!
written by  Alex Kent on September 26, 2007 from Leon, Nicaragua

Oases (is that the plural of oasis?)
Granada, Nicaragua
In 'Hostel Oasis' in Granada I bumped into a couple of Australian guys, Ben and Rich, who I had first met a few weeks back when I was climbing Pacaya, and who had driven down from the States in a car they bought in San Diego.
I joined them on a day trip to Laguna de Apoyo, another lake formed in a collapsed volcanic Crater, whose depth Jacques Cousteau failed to discover because it overstretched his instruments, and which remains unknown to this day. Allegedly. It is a beautiful, tranquil spot and remains largely undeveloped, so as you swim out and float in its warm waters and look around you, all you see is dense green foliage.
The following day we took a boat tour of Las Isletas - 365 tiny islands spattered into Lake Nicaragua by a volcanic eruption, and just off the coast of Granada. Not much to write home about, they were nonetheless interesting to see, not least for the fancy pads belonging to Nicaragua's rich and famour, including one lovely development owned by the family at the head of Flor de Caña rum - huge in Central America, and acknowledged worldwide as a good tipple.
written by  Alex Kent on September 28, 2007 from Granada, Nicaragua

Another Volcanic Landmass
Moyogalpa, Nicaragua
Now adopted as Rich and Ben's travel buddy, and squeezed into their Jeep Cherokee alongside Will, another tagger-on, four enourmous bags and several smaller ones, two surfboards, a tent, numerous miscellaneous foodstuffs and a blender (essential for impromptu cocktailing),
I headed in style, by way of car ferry, to Isla de Ometepe - the largest island in a freshwater lake anywhere in the world. Roughly figure-of-eight in shape, and formed by two volcanoes and the lowlands connecting them, Ometepe is also relatively undeveloped - very green, full of wildlife and with many roads seriously meriting our four wheel drive facility. Our hostel, 'Hacienda Merida', served enourmous $4 eat-all-you-can buffet suppers and equally sumptuous buffet breakfasts with a fantastic porridge/granola mix with cinammon, so we were suitably fuelled for a steep 4km trek to San Ramon waterfall, but nothing could have prepared us for the humidity. I had no idea I was able to sweat that much! The views over the lake were fabulous though and the icy water, although it felt like standing bare backed in a heavy hailstorm, was a welcome relief.
Just off shore from where we were staying were two 'monkey islands' - home to a small number of monkeys rescued from cruel captivity as domestic pets and relocated to their own private islands, so Ben and I rented a kayak and paddled out to visit them, just in time to see them picking through our leftover breakfast pancakes wiht a practiced eye.
written by  Alex Kent on October 1, 2007 from Moyogalpa, Nicaragua

Sun, Sea and Sand
San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua
After our close encounter of the primate kind, we caught the ferry back to the mainland and made the short journey to a beach town called San Juan del Sur on the Pacific coast. With a really laid back charm, it was the perfect place to enjoy the sun, sea and sand for a few days, and hugely improved by having the car,
which gave us the flexibility to explore the local beaches at our leisure. On our second day there we picked up some brilliant sandwiches (go for the Daniel Ortega with added olives) from Captain Jim's sandwich shop and headed to Maderas beach where we discovered a slice of paradise. Beautiful clean sand, fun surf, abundant sunshine and some classic bleached driftwood artfully sacttered about the place. The further reaches of the beach a little way down the coast by foot were all but deserted and utterly lovely, so we spent an idyllic afternoon doing not very much. Later, pursuing our obsession with all things alimentary, we tracked down a delicious street barbeque where for next to nothing you got a huge plate of rice, beans, plantain and freshly grilled meat, all served byt he most friendly lady we had met in ages. It was hard to tear the boys away.
written by  Alex Kent on October 3, 2007 from San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua

The Beginning of the End of the Beginning
Tamarindo, Costa Rica
After a few more days unwinding, and after a great result in the rugby (how bitter my travelling companions were) we decided it was about time to head on to Costa Rica so we aimed for Tamarindo, a well known surf spot on the Pacific Coast. Arriving there felt not at all like arriving in a Central American town - shopping centres, hotels and fast food chains, all proclaiming their presence in English rather than Spanish, immediately marked Tamarindo out as a regrettably over-developed tourist trap full of holidaying Americans. To cap it all, the weather and the surf were disappointing (just to be clear, I haven't taken up surfing, yet, but it was a driving force behind Ben and Rich's route plan) so we headed on before too long - but not before we had made the most of the unusually well-stocked supermarkets to cook up a couple of great meals!
written by  Alex Kent on October 6, 2007 from Tamarindo, Costa Rica

Zippity Doo Da
Monteverde, Costa Rica
Our next stop, high in the cloudforest, was the strange little town of Monteverde. Founded by Quakers for dairy production, it had an Alpine feel to it only enhanced by the weather, which found us in shoes, jeans, jumpers and raincoats for the first time in what felt like forever. It was actually quite a welcome change and made me very nostalgic for the autumn I am missing back home.
The region is famous for its numerous zip lines and canopy tours, so we booked ourselves on one straight away and spent the most incredible morning hurtling through the treetops on zip-wires up to 750m long and god knows how high. The mist and rain affected the visibility so much that on the longer runs you were just launching into a wall of grey, the wire disappearing into nothingness, until about half way along you could see neither where you were going nor where you had come from but only the valley floor far below and the forest canopy as it hurtled past. Truly exhilarating. The course also included a huge 'tarzan swing' which was a real heart-in-mouth leap of faith. Although you only free-fell initially for about 4 or 5 metres, it felt like a hell of a long way, and when the wire tautened and you started swinging out over the valley at breakneck speed, hurtling towards a large and extremely solid looking tree, it was impossible not to scream. Needless to say I didn't hit the tree, but swung merrily backwards and forwards a few times with my stomach doing cartwheels before they reined me in. A great day.
written by  Alex Kent on October 8, 2007 from Monteverde, Costa Rica

La Fortuna
Fortuna, Costa Rica
From Monteverde we made our way to nearby La Fortuna to soak in some Hot Springs and trek up to a nearby waterfall - another hot and sweaty slog, but definitely worth it. The falls were beautiful, sitting in a self-carved corner which glittered with spray in the sunlight and glowed green with lichen as the water roared and boiled in the plunge pool at the bottom. The river ran off into a beautiful blue pool which was gorgeous for swimming although seriously chilly - and byt he time I had gone through the wretched rigmarole of trying to change into a bikini in public while preserving my modesty (oh to be a boy), I had somewhat lost the flush from the climb! After an excellent plato del dia in a little cafe recommended to us by a taxi driver, we hit the road once more to make for the Bright lights of the capital.
written by  Alex Kent on October 10, 2007 from Fortuna, Costa Rica

The End of the Beginning
San Jose, Costa Rica
In San Jose we settled into Tranquillo Backpackers - a nice hostel in a less than nice part of town. Our guide book warned us that it was a booming red-light district by night, but even when we arrived early evening, the hostel manager was horrified to see us leave the car unattended - "Go, NOW, go and stand by it. Yes, go NOW." - albeit that it was locked, within eyesight, and a 10 second walk away!
Rich's birthday fell during our stay so we went out to sample the nightlife and ended up on something of a wild goose chase, taxi hopping around the city to try and find 'the place to be' - who would have though it could be so difficult to track down in a capital city? At any rate, we had fun, although it's not somewhere I'll be rushing back to. It was nice to be back in the hustle and bustle of a city though, and I enjoyed drifting around, window shopping and people watching for a couple of days, before I packed by bags and said goodbye to Central America for (very nearly) the last time.
For this trip at least.
written by  Alex Kent on October 11, 2007 from San Jose, Costa Rica

A Holiday Within a Holiday
Graeme Hall, Barbados
Reunited with the boy at last. Details to follow - I'm feeling too emotional at having said goodbye to him again today to write about it now!
written by  Alex Kent on October 14, 2007 from Graeme Hall, Barbados

A Holiday Within a Holiday Within a Holiday
Bequia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines
See above.
written by  Alex Kent on October 17, 2007 from Bequia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines

Back to Barbados
Graeme Hall, Barbados
More sun, sea and sand.
written by  Alex Kent on October 22, 2007 from Graeme Hall, Barbados

The Final Farewell
San Jose, Costa Rica
So here I am, back in Tranquillo Backpackers, immersing myself in frantically typing up my route over the past few months and trying not to dwell on the fact that I am again all alone and boyfriendless for at least the next four months. Boohoo!
Tomorrow still seems rather unreal - South America at last, and I haven´t the faintest idea what I´m heading to ... off to do some research.
written by  Alex Kent on October 27, 2007 from San Jose, Costa Rica

Quito? What Quito?
Quito, Ecuador
I love official airport taxis. There is nothing more relieving than arriving, frazzled and emotional, in a new country and having a friendly lady gently coax your destination out of you, very forgiving of your rusty Spanish, charge you a set price, give you a ticket and point you to the nearest cab, where a friendly man helps you with your luggage and cheerfully takes you on your way.
It may well be a rip off, but it was just what I needed.
Another thing I needed, and in this I was once again guided by the indespensible Lonely Planet, was a hostel full of people mindlessly having fun and being sociable. El Centro Del Mundo provided exactly that, and I´m not too ashamed to say that my 5 days in Quito were spend doing almost nothing cultural or remotely productive. Instead I surrounded myself with new friends, drank a hell of a lot of rum and coke (free in the hostel 3 nights a week) and tried to cheer myself up.
I also managed to visit the equator, and had great fun leaping from one hemisphere to another, balancing eggs on nails (apparently it´s easier there) and observing the opposing flows of draining water. It genuinely does work!
On, and Hallowe´en was cancelled. That was interesting. Apparently it interfered with some Ecuadorian national day, and the President didn´t want the local culture to be subsumed by a mass of American commercialism. Good for him! So he policed the streets and threatened to fine any bars hosting parties and arrest people in costume. (I consequently spent the following night dressed as a man, while my new friend Alex paraded around in my miniskirt and top for the local Irish bar´s ´replacement´ cross-dressing Hallowe´en night. Don´t ask.)
I also managed to find, negotiate and book (totally in Spanish, a huge achievement) a great last minute cruise to the Galapagos Islands on a fabulous boat called the Beluga.....
written by  Alex Kent on October 28, 2007 from Quito, Ecuador

In The Footsteps of a Salopian ...
Galapagos, Ecuador
A totally ridiculous place - I was only there minutes before I was on the point of tears at how amazing it was. Admittedly the fact that I hadn´t been to sleep and had only a very few hours earlier reclaimed my rightful gender probably wasn´t helping matters. However, tiredness and emotionalness aside, the Galapagos truly are incredible.
From the barren red earth of Isla Baltra when you fly in, to the entertaining souvenir T-shirts at the airport, to the inumerably streams of diving birds plunging into the depths and reminding me vividly of sitting on the beach in Bequia, everything was captivating.
I somehow ended up with a great cabin, one of the best on the boat in fact, with two walls which were entirely window so I could fall asleep and wake up with the sea gliding past tight next to me. Every attention had been payed to detail, and I couldn´t stop grinning with smug excitement at how lucky I was to be there.
Trip 1:
Wow. North Seymour, like Baltra, is utterly flat -
a slab of tectonic plate which has been pushed up to sit above the surface. The vegetation is dry and scrubby, but the sense of barrenness goes no further. Bright reddy/orange crabs scuttled away from me as I left the boat and I was immediately hypnotised by the gracefully enormity of the pelicans as they patrolled the surf, and the balletic perfection of the frigates´dramatic dives. I was so absorbed that I practically walked into the little black marine iguana at my feet - but while I was admiring him I suddenly noticed that the beach was littered with lazing baby sealions, irridescent with velvet wrinkles. A yellow-faced Baltra land iguana basked motionless in the sun as if he was put there solely to face the camera, as the blue-footed boobies whistled and honked to each other in playful courtship. It was quite impossible to take in each new wonder before being distracted by the next - the whole place as alive with creatures, living on each other´s doorsteps, without a hint of concern over each other´s presence of ours. The fearlessness of the animals is something it is utterly impossible to prepare yourself for. Every ingrained habit is telling you to approach them with caution, but more often than not they just get bored of waiting and run up to inspect you! It´s hard to convince yourself that it is real - that you genuinely are face to face with a wild sealion; genuinely are standing in the middle of a mating ritual with horny extrovert birds weaving a dance of seduction around you, oblivious to your presence. Our guide´s expert commentary brought everything even more to life, and it really felt like I was learning, discovering - literally living an episode of ´Planet Earth´!
Trip 2:
I am getting ahead of myself, but I just have to mention a great moment, which left me with an inane grin for hours. I came in off the dingy after our afternoon visit, changed and drifted the 3 metres to the lounge/bar where there was a bowl of pimento stuffed olives, a plate of cheese and salami, another or Ritz crackers, and a cold beer. And did I mention that the Gypsy Kings were gently strumming away on the stereo while we rocked at anchor in the dark bay? Bliss on board as well as on land.
That day´s highlight (and the highlight of many subsequent days in fact), so fabulous that I laughed the whole time it was happening, was swimming with sealions. We snorkelled for perhaps 20 minutes and although the scenery was pretty, it was simply too cold to be properly absorbing and a lot of people got out of the water pretty quickly. When only two or three of us were left, three sealions found us and swam a hypnotising dance around us. They would twist and turn, dive and leap, hurtle out of hte deep to within inches of your mask, then glide past you to double back underneath and stare at you with a very self-congratulatory expression. They loved you to play back too. I started diving down with them, twisting around and doubling back, trying to hold their gaze while they outmanoevered me and it just made them more ambitious - swimming closer then darting away more quickly, diving deeper, writhing around overexcitedly infront of me as they wove a path around each other and us. It was magical.
Besides that, more beautiful scenery - the turquiose waters,
warm rounded banks of baslat rock and yellow sands of the previous day gave way to dramatic cliffs, gorgeous barrelling left-hand breaks that would have made Dave green, blow holes spouting salt spray 30 metres into the air - and, of course, the profuse and staggering juxtaposition of birds, mammals and reptiles of every shape and size. The boobies are so comical, stamping their rubbery blue feet, and the tentative courtship of young albatrosses, forming the first bonds which will join them for life, is so touching.
Another island:
Punta Espinosa, on Fernandina Island, blew me away. Even after several days of non-stop wildlife spotting and hugely varied scenery, it was just so fabulous that I felt like I had arrived in the Galapagos anew. An irregular. messy stretch of coastline formed where lave flows have pushed out into the sea, it is lapped by beautiful turquoise waters which alternately foam up against the rocks or flow inwards to fill rock pools and tranquil coves. Against a beautiful backdrop of golden-brown volcanoes which glowed in the afternoon sun, the water was alive with pelicans, boobies, frigates and comical flightless cormorants whose silly stunted wings look much less daft and pathetic when you learn that they can dive to 35 metres. THIRTY FIVE METRES!! I felt pretty chuffed when I did that with a scuba tank on my back. Closer to the shore, the marine iguanas wove their way in and out of the surf or basked in sun-drenched piles on the rocks. Away to my left, sealions rested beneath the shade of a mangrove, while a couple of penguins bobbed about on top of a wave. While the exquisite orange and turquise cracs scuttled with the lava lizards around my feet, I tried to absorb the moment. Within 10 metres of where I was standing were at least five endemic species, along with a hord of other wildlife - all utterly unafraid and happily going about their lives against a backdrop of black lava, golden sand, green mangroves, turquoise waters and dramatic, sweeping volcanoes. I could have stayed there for days. To cap it all, a little way along the shore, we witnessed the most beautiful and captivating courtship display yet. Two cormorants, first on land sang, flapped and rubbed beaks, and then on water swam an exquisite synchronised dance, circling around one another, bobbing and weaving, and intertwining their necks. They were totally oblivious to the playful interference of a young sealion and they must have carried on for ten minutes. It was utterly enchanting.
I am aware that I have been sickeningly poetic in trying to describe my experiences there over the last week, but it is impossible not to be. Whatever preconceptions or expectations I had about the Galapagos, nothing could compare to the experience of actually being there. It is difficult to say exactly why it was so wonderful - the landscape, the climate, even the animals themselves are not that exceptional - I think it is simply the fearlessness of the creatures. The opportunity it provides to witness nature as it was supposed to be - as it is when humans are not there.
written by  Alex Kent on November 2, 2007 from Galapagos, Ecuador

Welcome to bus travel
Guayaquil, Ecuador
Having had one more night back in the hectic hostel it was time to begin the tedious process of getting to La Paz (Bolivia) overland in the shortest time period possible.
The first leg was mild - eight hours down through Ecuador to Guayaquil - a huge, industrial port city, and by all accounts a place to be missed. Excellent. Luckily I am blessed with an almost irresistable ability to sleep on buses, so the day passed in a daze of snatched views out of the window, Spanish films, English films (it´s fascinating to see how much they tone down the language when they write the subtitles) and reading, in between long periods of dreaming.
I had a hostel recommendation, so upon arriving I wasted no time getting to the relative comfort and security of my dorm room and rangthe bus company to try and reserve a ticket to Lima (Peru) for the morrow. Unfortunately Iwas too late, and they were all gone. Apparently every one else was also trying to get out of thisdamn place.
The next morning I headed straight to the bus station and, after a bit of a panic and a row when she told me there were no seats for Monday either (when i had been assured the night before that there were some) I managed toreserve a seat and spent the rest of the day drifitng around the new waterfront development, which is generally accepted to be Guayaquil´s main redeeming feature.
In fact it really wasn´t so bad and the development, ´The Malecon´, is fine - very bland and faceless, full of ice cream and food vendors, families and undefined modern sculpture in the ´poles, wires and sails style´ - rather like strolling down Embankment on a touristy Saturday in the summer - but very clean and jolly. At the far end of the Malecon is a district called Las Penas where cute narrow cobbled streets wind their way up a hill between brightly painted and elegantly aged colonial wooden mansions. One route up the hill is a tourist highway, but more by luck than design I managed to find an alternative route up and spent a blissful couple of hours (despite the sweltering heat) strolling up the hill between people´s back yards and gardens, catching occasional glimpses of the huge view and being greeted amiably by everyone I met. The top of the hill affords the best views over the city which the smog permits, and, thankfully there is a sweet little church where I retreated, with my best devout face on, to get out of the sun for a bit and catch my breath.
I passed the evening in some more drifting and sat by the water until 10ish, reading my guidebook and reflecting that all in all it had been a rather nice day.
written by  Alex Kent on November 10, 2007 from Guayaquil, Ecuador

Long distance training
Lima, Peru
Bus.
written by  Alex Kent on November 12, 2007 from Lima, Peru

City of Sails
Auckland, New Zealand
Feeling dazed and disgusting after a sleepless flight and the shameless theft by some higher power of my 29th November 2007, we arrive in New Zealand to comically dire warnings telling us, in effect, that Kiwi customs officials are an elite, highly trained and ruthless force who will not hesitate to inflict all kinds of pain and retribution on any individual found with so much as a spec of dirt on their walking shoes. Luckily neither myself nor either of my two new companions, Alan and Mark, are thus apprehended and before long I am united with Brent, a family friend who has very generously offered to pick me up at this ungodly hour and put me up in his fabulous home for the weekend.
Auckland turns out ot me a gorgeous city, with the skyline not far from aesthetically perfect, and the myriad boats at every turn truly earning its nickname 'the city of sails'. The ever hospitable couple I am staying with invite my two Irishmen to come and stay as well (having never met me before, let alone these two complete strangers!), and arrange for a friend of their son's to come round and say hi as they will be away for the weekend. He in turn takes it upon himself to drive us around the city showing us the sights and entertaining us, demonstrating from the off the unswerving friendliness and obliging nature of New Zealanders. Despite relishing the (more than) home comforts, we decided to make the most of our time and get out of Auckland for the weekend to explore the north, so we hired a car and set off into the unknown.
written by  Alex Kent on November 30, 2007 from Auckland, New Zealand

Island Hopping
Paihia, New Zealand
By way of the sweet little fishing harbour at Omaha Cove in the town of Leigh, which was strangely reminiscent of parts of the southern Cornish coast, and a chilly snorkelling session with some huge snapper at the Goat Island Marine Reserve, we made our way to Paihia: gateway to the beautiful Bay of Islands. There we booked ourselves on a half day cruise which motored around the scattered archipelago telling us about the past and present of the islands - from Russell, the first permanent European settlement in New Zealand to Motuarohia, where a repressed and bullied Maori servant retaliated by going on a killing rampage - splitting his fellow servant's head with an axe and then murdering his employer's whole family, to another spot (Moturua?) where a fabulously wealthy Kiwi has built himself the ultimate weekend retreat, with a gadget filled underground layer worthy of Batman, and a passageway hollowed out of the headland so that guests arriving at the shared jetty in the adjoining bay will not be inconvenienced by the two minute walk over the top!
Although the weather was not great (setting the theme for our entire time in New Zealand) the trip was gorgeous, and whet our appetite for the increasingly lovely sights to come.
written by  Alex Kent on December 1, 2007 from Paihia, New Zealand

Too Much to See, Too Little Time
Omapere, New Zealand
From the Bay of Islands we drove a north-western loop round to the beautiful scenery of the west coast and stopped for a scrumptious fish burger from a cafe that didn't sell any soft drinks as they were available at the service station next door - what a wonderfully community-minded business plan! Munching it down in the beautiful environs of Omepere, I suffered once again the biggest frustration of travelling - the more you see, the more you realise there is to be seen. Here, green wooded slopes sweep down to a vivid blue inlet which is backed against huge slopes of Golden sand - apparently a favourite spot for sandboarding, where you hurtle down the slopes and in to the water (amazing!), but unfortunately we didn't have the time to stop and give it a go. Continuing cross country to rejoin Highway 1 for our journey back to Auckland, we drove through endless remote little homesteads set in stunning surroundings and marvelled, not for the last time, at how unpopulated New Zealand is.
Back in Auckland our returned hosts whipped up a fabulous meal, reminding all three of us how much we missed home cooking, and spent the evening entertaining us with stories of their travels and giving us hints and tips for our onward journey.
written by  Alex Kent on December 2, 2007 from Omapere, New Zealand

I Gotta Get Me a Beach House
Coromandel, New Zealand
Well rested, well fed, and with the amazingly generous offer of the use of their beach house on the Coromandel Peninsular, we parted company with our hosts, and with Auckland, and headed east. After a couple of days' driving around we thought we had begun to get used to New Zealand roads, but nothing could prepare us for the coastal route along the peninsular through Coromandel Town, where we stopped for lunch and a wander around, and on over the headland to Matarangi. Seemingly 50% of the bends had 25kmh advisory speed limits, and often even that was optimisitic. So we twisted and turned our way along glorious white beaches, sapphire waters and awe-inspiring native forests and blessed the automatic gearbox in our hire car. Some of the views afforded out over the islands off the Coromandel bay were staggering - I fell in love with the peninsular immediately.
Once at Matarangi we made ourselves at home for a few days while we explored the local sights - the stunning white arches and stacks of Cathedral Cove; the bizarre subterranean volcanic springs at 'Hot Water Beach'; the bustling little town of Whitianga. It was a few days of absolute bliss - long dawn walks along the beach, cup of tea in hand; delicious barbeques and relaxed outdoor suppers; boozy Monopoly marathons; clear Mediterranean light; clean, broad beaches and green inpenetrable hills. I would love to have stayed longer and walked myself into a deep sleep every day but, as ever, the clock was ticking.
written by  Alex Kent on December 3, 2007 from Coromandel, New Zealand

Rain, Rain Go Away
Rotorua, New Zealand
The guidebook made a flippant aside about the smell lingering over this volcanic vent of a town. We laughed it off.
Then we arrived and took it a little more seriously.
Quite why anyone would choose to live in a town that smells perpetually of eggy farts is beyond me. Perhaps it's the proximity to pools of bubbling clay-ey sulphuric mud. Perhaps not.
Anyway, besides the smell Rotorua offers a wealth of outdoor activities from the standard - white water rafting, to the bizarre - mud bathing for instance. We were tempted by the zorbing (strap yourself into a huge inflatable sphere and roll down a hill) ... until we saw the hill, all gently descending 20 metres of it, and decided that it really wasnt worth paying over ₤1 a second for.
Plus it was raining.
So we left.
written by  Alex Kent on December 5, 2007 from Rotorua, New Zealand

Come Again Another Day
Taupo, New Zealand
It was still raining when we reached Taupo, which ruled out our sky dive hopes.
Besides a satisfyingly torrential waterfall in the same beautiful turquoise of my Guatemalan favourite, Semuc Champey, there was nothing more to see.
I mean to do central north island New Zealand no disservice, but it wasn't gripping us. Plus, having seen the waterfall we were drenched to the skin as the sky mercilessly bucketed down everything it had.
We left.
written by  Alex Kent on December 6, 2007 from Taupo, New Zealand

Oblivion
Wellington, New Zealand
Due to the boys having rather stringent requirements about where they spend their weekends - basically demanding a large settlement well populated by females, beer and dancing venues, we spent a couple of days here but shamefully I have little to report. After a month of fairly non-stop travelling I decided to treat myself to a short while of nothingness and consequently over-indulged on our first night, slept a lot, and saw very little of New Zealand's capital city. The hostel, however, was definitely noneworthy - a huge YHA, it was more like a Travelodge that a hostel and probably somewhat characterless, but absolutely spotless, and the communal kitchen was worthy of a professional chef. I couldn't stop marvelling at the 'salon professional' hairdryers in the bathrooms, and at the electronic key-cards which automatically locked you out of your room after 10am if you hadn't paid the next night's fee!
written by  Alex Kent on December 7, 2007 from Wellington, New Zealand

Home Sweet Home
Nelson, New Zealand
From Wellington we caught the inter-island ferry into Picton and were blessed with a beautiful day, which not only made my first (and last) real impression of the capital city a good one, but made the entire crossing from the pillar box red tugs in the harbour to the grand beauty of Marlborough Sound as we entered the south island absolutely beautiful. New Zealand is full of 'sounds', particularly in the south western fjordland and unfortunately, due to our tight schedule, this was the only one we got to experience. Milford Sound, down in the fjordland, is the most famous and the treks around it are reckoned to be some of the world's most beautiful. Definitely one for the future. As it was, the glittering dark waters of the Marlborough meeting its dramatic plunging forested slopes gave me more than enought to gaze at in awe. Houses perched on tiny private beaches seemed dwarfed by the green mass towering above them - hills so steep and densely grown that in most cases not even an access road connected the houses to civilization - a boat being the only means of transport.
In Picton we bee-lined for a nearby rental company and very easily negotiated a great rate on another car for two weeks, opting for a manual this time which caused lots of initial confusion as we each took our turn at the wheel! Plunging straight back in to the twisting turns of another coastal road, we headed for Nelson, which our Auckland hosts had recommended, and enjoyed more staggering scenery along the way.
[Note - I am aware that superlatives and hyper-enthusiastic adjectives may start to sound tediously formulaic, but it is impossible to witness the landscape of New Zealand without marvelling, constantly. At every turn, particularly on the south island, are vistas of incredible beauty, grandeur and remoteness. It is as if someone had been given a model countryside set and has picked all the best mountains and forests, beaches and rivers and indulgently pieced them all together in one little corner of the globe, utterly forgetting to add people to the mix.]
So, to Nelson, a sweet little town with a pleasantly bustling atmosphere, and home to my favourite hostel from my time in New Zealand. At 'Accents on the Park' you feel rather as if you are staying in someone's home with a smart, clean but very homely feel to the living room, landings and bedrooms; warm, well-lit, comfortable bathrooms; and downstairs the most wonderful bar. When I walked in, the REAL, LIVE Christmas tree, the English country pub feel, and the casual local atmosphere immediately choked me with a wonderfully sentimental nostalgia. Gerry, a one-time Bristolian, served up delicious wallet-friendly food and a cider, and all three of us were very happy. If you go to Nelson, stay there.
At the local pool, where we had been drawn by a craving for exercise, a characteristically friendly Kiwi turned our goggle-buying mission into a bubbly but surreal 10-minute chat, and we exhausted ourselves doing some lengths. The sun even came out for our walk home! Finally we had shaken off the north island blues.
The next day we drove west to the Abel Tasman National Park - an absolute dream of remote, driftwood strewn beaches and gloriously green rainforest. We arrived too late to do our intended kayak up the coast and walk back, but instead opted to take one of the coastal paths through the park for a few hours and get a water taxi back. It is a stunning place. The following day we returned to give some kayaking a go, and visited the impressively incongruous 'split-apple rock' and a few pretty coves around Marahau. Abel Tasman is another place that merits a few days trekking and camping, and there were some great beach-side cabins which can be reserved in advance and really tempted me to return one day and do it thoroughly.
written by  Alex Kent on December 9, 2007 from Nelson, New Zealand

The Middle of Nowhere
Punakaiki, New Zealand
After our session on the water we started the huge drive down to Punakaiki, and while the boys dozed I enjoyed an idyllic drive through some of my favourite scenery from the trip - along the Owen River, which meanders its way through broad, flat flood plains fringed by beautiful banks of verdant willows and other trees, tumbling its wide, golden-clear waters over a shallow pebbly bed and sandy shores. A few homestay guesthouses along its course would have made a fabulous place to stop off and enjoy the area, but just to drive through with the company of my own thoughts and two silent passengers was an incredible lovely experience.
The scenery changed as we entered the Buller Gorge - striking rather than tranquil, but equally beautiful. Here turquiose waters pour through a dramatic forested valley, churning over rocks and creating dramatic flashes of contrasting colour as you drive along its course. We stopped to cross the hairy Buller Gorge Suspension Bridge and stretch our legs with a little stroll through the forest on the other side and then pressed on towards the coast.
When we arrived in Punakaiki the weather had closed in and the stormy grey sky, choppy sea and chilly, horizontal rain were more than anti-climactic. Then discovering that all shops and eateries in the vicinity were closed and the nearest supermarket a 50 minute drive away we nearly despaired, but we managed to cobble together a meal by buying up the entirety of the meagre offerings behind reception (along the lines of tuna, instant noodles, beans and an egg). The evening was utterly redeemed by our discovery of a fabulous hot-tub on the lawn where I soaked for an hour and a half, the cold wind and rain and the brooding sea view making the warmth and comfort even more enjoyable!
The following morning the weather was just as grim so we forsook a visit to the nearby 'Pancake Rocks' (I don't know ... if you go, let me know!) and, via breakfast in the impossibly uninspiring Greymouth, headed towards an afternoon trek on the Fox Glacier.
written by  Alex Kent on December 11, 2007 from Punakaiki, New Zealand

Fox Glacier (mint anyone?)
Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand
Arriving amid more sheets of driving rain and clad in jeans and rain jackets, we huddled in our prospective tour operator's cafe and debated the appeal of trekking for several hours on a large block of ice in the pouring rain and chilly wind with shit visibility and another long drive ahead. Ultimately we decided we shoudl really man up and that we would probably regret it if we didn't go. How often do you get to walk on a glacier after all?
An excellent, excellent decision.
Luke, our guide, a caricature of the youthful ourdoorsy kiwi: flowing golden locks; matching golden tan; calves the size of tree trunks; leather walkabout hat sealed to his head; and boundless enthusiasm, kitted us out with leather boots and waterproof trousers and raved about the glacier when viewed in these conditions; the normally glaring sunlight which turns the ice a blinding white is absent, allowing the beautiful seams of denser ice to glow blue. the run-off, instead of being a small stream, was covering a massive area of the valley floor, adn the air resounded with the thunderour groans of huge blocks of ice being rolled along in its flow. An already enormous cave, never there under normal conditions, was growing on the face of the glacier, and an excitable Luke practically pranced with the anticipation of seeing massive sheets of ice fall from the cave ceiling to the river floor. meanwhile we trekked up hundreds of steps carved from the valley side through the rainforest adn scrambled over treacherous rocky crossings throgh torrents of water until we eventually emerged at the edge of the glacier and strapped on our crampons to begin the ascent. An immediate drop on the ambient temperature saw the whole group scrambling to remove waterproof layers and don warm ones without letting too much rain in, while we all practiced our stamping technique - essential if you didn't want to join once member of our party, on your arse at the bottom of a crevasse feeling pretty bloody silly. As we climbed up ot the top of the ice flow I couldn't help feeling rahter intrepid - a sensation massively hightened by the inclement weather which made everything slightly uncomfortable and challenging, and probably improved the experience. The gritty view through sheeting rain to ice, rocks and river as made more peculiar by its backdrop of luscious temperate forest, and without exception we were thrilled to be up there. By the time we started the trek back we were drenched, andwalking in captive puddles - the knackered leather boots doing a good impression of a one-way valve, but everyone was far too elated to care. Throwing caution to the wind we waded knee deep through the streams, and when one was deemed too dangerous to cross we diverted downhill and reverted to childhood as we scrambled down muddy banks, muscled through trees and bushes, and squelched along ankle deep bogs. Just as we emerged at the valley floor, muddy, soaked and very pleased wiht ourselves, an ENORMOUS chunk of ice peeled off the cave roof and crashed dramatically to the floor, splashing water metres into the air and sending Luke into raptures of delight.
Back in town we dried off, warmed up and wolfed down a much needed pub meal and decided to put more miles behind us on our journey south.
written by  Alex Kent on December 12, 2007 from Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand

Where Have All The People Gone?
Wanaka, New Zealand, New Zealand
Amdittedly it was already dark when we set off, but it wasn't particularly late, and we were driving down the main north-south highway on the south island, so it was with increasing disbelief that we eventually counted a total of 9 cars going in the opposite direction ... in over FOUR HOURS of driving!! That's New Zealand for you. To my continuing regret (it always makes me shudder) I managed to kill a possum out for an evening stroll, but luckily was able to safely avoid another and so, dazed and exhausted after a huge day of driving, trekking and more driving, we reached the Lakeside town of Wanaka at about midnight. Having been out of Mobile range for nigh on two days, we hadn't got around to pre-booking any accommodation which rapidly changed from an "Oh never mind" situation to an "Oh shit" one as we ricocheted from one "No vacancy" to another, via a couple of "F*** off it's midnights"s along the way. Eventually the boys found a hotel foyer with comfortable sofas and resolved to sleep there while I took the passenger seat of the car, but a short while after I had got comfortable they re-appeared having located the night manager and negotiated a triple room.
Wanaka had a lot of autumnal potential - a pretty tree-ringed lake backing on to more mountains, but the following morning dawned grey and drizzly so we pressed on to Stuart Landsborough's Puzzling World, where we spent a fun few hours negotiating mazes; marvelling at all sorts of brilliant optical illusions; and giving ourselves brain ache trying to solve myriad puzzles and games. It was all too much for Alan, who fell asleep in the cafe and started snoring. Comedy.
written by  Alex Kent on December 12, 2007 from Wanaka, New Zealand, New Zealand

Point Break
Fernhill, New Zealand
From the world of puzzles to the world of outdoor adventures by day and partying by night. Queenstown had been much hyped as most people's (travellers') favourite Kiwi town and I, not being a huge fan of the 'travelling for aprtying' school of thought, was prepared to be disappointed. Not at all. Queenstown's beautiful waterside setting, perched beneath rolling green hills and, more distantly, the moutnian range charmingly called 'The Remarkables' is fantastic - a sheltered harbour mirrors tree-lined beaches and the town buzzes with good shops, fun bars, travellers and locals high on adrenaline and life, and the best burger joint you could wish for. Fergburger, we salute you.
It simply wouldn't do to stay in Queenstown and not throw yourself off or out of something from a great high, and having been denied all ather skydiving opportunities to date by persistent bad weather, I was determined that now was my time. You can imagine my delight therefore, or perhaps you can't, when i awoke one morning to clear blue skies and sunshine and ran downstairs to the booking office to make arrangements. Alan was less delighted when I roused him from his hungover snoring to tell him that in 3 hours he would be throwing himself out of a plane at 12,000ft. Mark opted to do the Nevis bungee jump instead - from 134m giving 8.5 seconds of freefall - the appeal fo which I will never understand. Perhaps it is the sheer distance from the ground at the moment of the jump which makes the risk inconceivable, but for some reason it never for a second occurred to me to be afraid, while Alan was a nervous wreck, desperately trying to find someone else in our group who would empathise. We suited up in devilishly attractive all in one jump suits, goggles and leather flying cap and met our jump partners (instructors who are doing on average 10 jumps a day!) and walked out to our little plane with the obligatory fanged shark painted on its nose cone. Squeezed less gracefully than sardines into its tiny interior, Alan grimaced with every slight turbulance while I excitedly chatted to Scott, my instructor, as he strapped me to his harness. Admiring the gorgeous view, we quickly reached altitude and the pilot nodded his ok to the first party. Now this guy was a qualified solo jumper who had several hundred 'pleasure jumps' under his belt, and looked vastly underdressed in a hoodie and shorts, his tiny backpack chute barely big enough to hold a picnic and no comedy leather skull cap or goggles to his name. To Alan's absolute horror he flung open the door and unceremoniously hurled himself out, leaving a glaringly dramatic space where there had once been a person. Al, of course, was next! Shooting a final look of desperation in my direction and, I suspect, muttering a stream of expletives and blasphemies, he manoevered himself to the door ....
Last to jump, I lowered myself out of the plane door until I was dangling over the void, held in place only by my instructor still sitting on the rim, and had a few breathtaking seconds to take in the rush of air and the immediacy of the enormous view before we rocked forwards, my stomach flew to my mouth and quickly returned, and I was screaming with amazed excitement and pleasure, "Oh my god this is SOOO beautiful!" You are so far away from the ground that you have no real impression of falling as it doesn't appear ro get any closer, but the sheer speed of free fall buffets you like a giant wind machine and drowns out all other noise and, as if supported by the air rather than falling through it, I grinned for 45 seconds and marvelled at the scenery.
After what felt simultaneously like a spit-second and an eternity, my instructor tapped me on the shoulder and pulled the shoot, and just like that all noise was silenced. Gradually I became aware of the canopy billowing gently above me and as we glided (glid/glode?) our way earthwards Scott pointed out various features of the landscape and threw in a few dramatic spirals just for fun. As I picked out the finve canopies below me, the landing site came in to focus, the sound of birds drifted our way and the heat of the day enveloped me. All too soon we were landing, but did so in style, with both of us joggin got a standing halt, earning a round of applause from the other instructors. Awesome.
To be continued ....
written by  Alex Kent on December 13, 2007 from Fernhill, New Zealand