MY GREAT ADVENTURE or ESCAPING SANTA CRUZ
I took a trip to Los Algodones Mexico to test my ability to live out of a suitcase and a backpack. On the way: I missed a train in Los Angeles, I talked with an Amish man at dinner on Amtrak, I left my hearing aids at a motel in San Diego and my hat on a greyhound bus (I got my hearing aids back). It was a dry 110 degrees in Yuma AZ and Los Algadones. In Los Algodones, I perspired a lot, I read, wrote, swam in the pool, and walked into town. The heat was wonderful. My knees and my back felt so much better and I didn’t have to pee as much. In Yuma I stayed inside. Now I have to make reservations for the train that is taking me to Orlando Florida and the plane that is taking me to Bogota Colombia. I am also joining the Airbnb crowd so I have to make reservations in Orlando and Bogota. I got unlimited data so I can use my laptop wherever my phone gets a signal. I have to make some decision soon. Warning: The Google speech recognition program is the worst program I have ever seen.
Tuesday October 8, 5:00 am, my Great Adventure started—almost. I arrived at the Amtrak bus stop at Santa Cruz Metro Center at 5:10 to catch a 5:20 Amtrak bus when I realized I had left my insulin in my refrigerator. I connected with Lyft, rushed home to retrieved my insulin and made it back to Metro by 5:18 am. The bus left at 5:35 am. After taking the bus to San Jose, I took a train to Emeryville where my Great Adventure really started.
Emeryville to Chicago
We have a really, really big country! We crossed The Rockies, saw some amazing rock formations, crossed the continental divide and saw lots and lots of really cool stuff. I think there is a law east of the Mississippi that requires citizens to keep a well-maintained lawn. I only saw 2 lawns that maybe needed to be mowed. There are long stretches of this country with no Wi-Fi and no phone reception. How do those people live!? I met some fun people and spent most of my time at a table in the train’s café. I missed much of the scenery but I was getting tired of all that beauty and splendor. Then there were the miles and miles of corn fields in Iowa with only the occasional well-manicured lawn to break the monotony. If one has seen one corn field, sit down, have a beer and forget about the rest. I parted ways with my new found friends in Chicago and headed for Washington D.C. I guess I should mention that I missed a train in Chicago. NO, I’m not losing it. Amtrak has a service called Red Cap. They use extended go carts to carry old and disabled passengers to and from the train. Well, a red cap was supposed to pick me up and take me to the train headed for D.C.—he didn’t. I will not describe my reactions in detail, but I will say that I used a fair amount of vulgarity and struct a few inanimate objects with my cane. The result was, I spent the night in a hotel which had a very nice breakfast. The next day, the Red Caps got me to my train as soon as it pulled in.
Chicago to Washington D.C.
I don’t remember anything that happened between Chicago and D.C. Am I losing it? No! NOTHING happened between Chicago and the District of Columbia.
D.C. to Orlando.
Nice trip. I met Moshe, a homeless Jew who spent his life traveling around the country by train and flying to the Holy Lands in Jerusalem. He was a happy camper. Then there were the three cuteish, loud talking, pot smoking, 20 something young ladies from NYC. How do I know that they were pot smokers you might ask? Between long stretches, Amtrak trains make occasional stops to give passengers a chance to stretch their legs, breath some real air and to have a smoke. Previous to one such stop I had a few friendly words with one of the 20 somethings. At the stop, the 3 twenty somethings formed a small circle and began to pass something around. I asked if I could join the circle. One 20 something said ‘What?’ I said I would like to partake. She said ‘No way’, not in a negative way but in an inquiring way. The young lady with whom I had previously met simply said ‘he’s from California’. The …, something was passed. I am already missing Santa Cruz. And then there was the not so cute, slick talking, 40 something dude who was hitting on the 20 somethings. He was not only slimy but, thank goodness, unsuccessful.
I didn’t see much scenery, not because there wasn’t any to be seen but because there was an impenetrable wall of growth on both sides of the tracks. A former resident called the growth Florida brush. I did manage to see one thing that stood out—a cotton field in Virginia. Unfortunately, its natural beauty was obscured by its unsavory history. We made a smoke stop in Savannah Georgia. At 4 AM it was over 70 degrees—beautiful!
Orlando to Panama City
What, Panama City? That’s right, a 13-hour layover in Panama City. Least you are conjuring up visions of me having 13 hours to visit certain establishments of pleasure—STOP!! Instead of relaxing in some Panamanian tavern and enjoying a local brew, I was confined to an area inside of the Panama City International Airport. I should mention that Copa Airlines did provide an inflight snack. I don’t know what it was but it was hot and delicious. They also provided beverages. I chose whiskey. And it was all gratis! The flight to Panama had one positive result—it reminded me of why I love to travel by train and why I so dislike air travel. Enough said about Panama City.
Panama City to Bogota—Day One
The hour and a half flight from Panama City to Bogota was… I was taught if you can’t anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Enough said.
The cab ride from the airport to the Airbnb ended in a negative and a positive result. Negative: the cab driver dropped me off at the wrong place. Positive: I could not find the address so I asked a woman at a small shop if she knew this address. She left her shop and tried to help me find the address! She could not find the exact address so she tried one that was close. It turned out to be a residence and a hostel. One of the residents who spoke English not only asked me in, he invited me to join his family for lunch. After lunch he personally helped me find the Airbnb which turned out to be 6 blocks away. Colombian hospitality!!!
Day Two
The morning started with intermittent rain. None the less, I decided to take a short tour of the area, i.e. I got lost. The area I am staying in is called Candelaria. It is the old city of Bogota. It is a beautiful area with enchanting murals everywhere. I was looking for a store that sold garlic, onions, potatoes and eggs. Even though the meals here are relatively inexpensive, I have decided to do some cooking for myself. Alas I will be leaving after 5 more nights. The high altitude leaves me breathless and the climate is too cool for me. I will be heading for Medellin and then to the cost where it is hot and humid. I may have to skip Ecuador. There is some civil unrest there, I have already busted my budget and, even though I can get by in Spanish, communicating only in Spanish is becoming stressful. I ended the day by closing a bar and returning to my studio apartment in a 17-floor building.
Day Three
I slept in. I did some writing and a little shopping. The high point of the day was a late lunch. The meal started with pita bread and some delicious hummus followed by a bowl of well-seasoned lentil soup. The waiter asked how I would like my meat cooked—well, medium or rare. I asked for medium rare. The main course consisted of a piece of beef that was a perfect medium rare. The meat had been cooked in a tamarin sauce and was covered with slivers of almonds. Chunks of roasted potato with skins and a pyramid of a mixture of spiced tomato and cucumber rounded out the meal. Everything was extremely delicious. The meal was followed with a jaw breaker sized piece of rich chocolate cake. I was so full I couldn’t finish the meat. The meal and a beer cost about $7.00, USD. What a great treat. Some notes about the Candelaria district of Bogota. It is a suburb, located in the hills outside of the main part of Bogota. Like everyplace I have seen in Bogota, it is bustling with bumper to bumper traffic, 15 to 20 story sky scrapers and crowded walkways. Street vendors and small shops are everywhere. Lots of motorcycles. The drivers and passengers were 100% helmeted. This area is what I imagine a busy Manhattan is like, except with narrower streets.
Day Four Fri. 10/18
Up last night until 3am binging on Netflix. When I got up there was no electricity. As I sit here writing, the electricity has been off for over 8 hours—no lights and no debit cards. What an adventure! I took in 11 days’ worth of legally filthy clothes to be cleaned. That left me with only a few things to wear until next Tues. What an adventure! The clothing here is much the same as in the States except no shorts, no short shorts and the rips in jeans have been worked for, not purchased. I have also noticed that there are very few people who are overweight. Lots of skinny jeans. I don’t know how they do it with all the delicious food and no diet Pepsi.
Day Five
No electricity all day and no Wi-Fi. My Airbnb host has not replied to my request for Wi-Fi. Here is my big problem. I want to buy more Colombian pesos but all I have is my debit card. I have no problem using my debit card in restaurants and such, but I would like to have some cash on hand. After I leave my present location, I will be saying 4 days at the place where the Colombian who first helped me lives. Wait! The electricity and the Wi-Fi just returned—oh happy day! The only other excitement was when the fire alarm went off—twice. No one paid any attention. Go figure.
Day Six
Rainy day. I took another walking tour i.e. I got lost again. I thought that if I made a left turn at every corner I would end up where I started. I was wrong. I walked down one street that was inhabited by the less fortunate people of the Candelaria suburb. The street was littered with trash. Some people were huddled under building overhangs or places where they could find protection from the rain. There were even four or five dogs huddled together. Some people were digging through ripped open garbage bags looking for I’m not sure what. All the other streets I had seen in Candelaria looked like they had been regularly cleaned. This one street looked like it had been overlooked. I made another left turn and realized that I was lost, but I had no desire to retrace my steps. I came to a park that I remembered from the last time I was lost. The day before on Saturday, that park and the streets had been teaming with people. Crowds were gathered around music and street performers. There were a multitude of street vendors and shops and restaurants were full. Today, Sunday, was truly a day of rest. It was eerily quiet. Most shops and restaurants were closed. I could find only two open restaurants. One did not accept Visa, the other one was a small Mexican restaurant. That’s right, tacos, burritos, enchiladas—the whole nine yards. The owner was a Mexican who was married to a black Colombian. They had lived in Ventura for several years and had produced five American citizens before they returned to Colombia. They were waiting for me to finish my fajitas to close. It was not yet 6:00 pm. No 24-hour Denny’s here.
Day 7 Monday 10/21
I woke up with the idea of rearranging my luggage. I removed a great deal of stuff from my bags and began making piles—clothes, daily meds, weekly meds, pills for pain, pills for the stomach (no problem so far and I drink tap water), pills ad nauseum. Then I got a call from the host asking what time would I be leaving. I said tomorrow by II:00. She said no, I would be leaving today by 11. I checked my calendar and OMG! I had made a mistake on the calendar and indeed, today was my last day. I jammed all my well-organized stuff into my bags and was out in ten minutes. This adventure crap is getting old. My host took me to a hotel where I spent the night.
Day 8 Tuesday
The hotel provided breakfast—coffee, fresh orange juice, eggs any style, fruit, pastries and things I didn’t recognize. I had forgotten that watermelon and grapes still have seeds. Some great views from the 8th floor. When I figure out how to use Facebook, I will send some pics. I gathered my things and wondered what I would do for 2 hours until it was time to check into the hostel. The Hotel Regina allowed me to hang out in the lobby area, drink coffee and eat popcorn. It was raining heavily when I got a cab, but when I reached the hostel, the rain had abated. 30 minutes after I checked-in the skies opened and I experienced a thunder storm louder and longer than any I had ever experienced. Thunder was so loud it interrupted conversation. I later found out that the Bogota airport had been closed because of the heavy rain. This post is already long but I am afraid I must describe the really big adventure I was to have. I had a plan. Go to the Western Union near my last Airbnb at 4:30, then walk three blocks to get my laundry which would not be ready until after 5. I told the cab driver that I didn’t have an address but I described the area around the Western Union office to which I wished to go. After some discussion, a search on an English speaker’s cell, I was assured the cabbie knew the Western Union of which I spoke—he didn’t. He took me to a different Western Union. It was raining and I had no idea where I was so I asked the cab to wait, while got the money. I returned to Hostel Magdalena only to discover that I had lost my wallet. OMG!! Thus began my next great adventure. I assumed my wallet had either fallen out in the cab or that I had left it at one of the many Western Union offices to which I had no address and lacked any idea of its location. I ran outside, actually I have almost lost the ability to run, I walked swiftly outside to see if I could find my cab driver—I couldn’t. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and my blood sugar was low so I went into the first restaurant I saw and had a meal. First miracle, when I walked out of the restaurant there was my cabbie! Since the he knew the exact Western Union, I was at least able to go and get an address. I spent the rest of the night praying and chanting.
Day 9 Wednesday 10/23/19
Second miracle-my wallet was at the Western Union office!! I wanted to jump for joy but jumping is just about out of the picture now a days. So I did a little dance, much to the amusement of the Western Union employees. I had spent last night studying Google maps. I surmised that my laundry was only three blocks from the Western Union office. Almost a miracle-I was right! I gathered my laundry and went for a cup of coffee. For those of you who are old enough to remember, there were once ads for Columbian coffee featuring Juan Valdez, a Colombian coffee farmer. Today there is a chain of coffee shops here called Juan Valdez with the same logo as the Colombian coffee ads. I went there, had a couple of cups of coffee and for the first time in Colombia, did some writing on my second novel. I returned to the hostel, had a hot shower and wrote about yesterday’s great adventure while a milder thunder storm passed. I bought a bottle of wine to celebrate my extremely good luck. My host lit a fire in the fire place. Yes, a fire place! A glass of wine, a roaring fire, what could go wrong? Oh crap, the host for Thursday and Friday had made a mistake, those days had already been booked. My next great adventure—finding a place to sleep for the next two nights. Not to worry. My host set me up with another place nearby. Maybe I should go to bed to avoid any more great adventures. No, I was not going to leave the fireplace, so I gazed into the fire until after midnight.
Thursday, Day 10
I moved to new digs today. I can’t wait until I am in the same place for 5 or 6 days or more. I had a much bigger space. Room to spread my stuff around. I laid down for a bit and thought about how cold wit was. I finally decided to step outside for a minute and lo and behold—a bright, warm, sunny day! I sat and soaked up the sun. On almost every street corner, there are street vendors selling slices of deep-fried plantain and slices of deep-fried potato (potato chips) which were cooked right in front of you—the best! Thankfully, no great adventures today—yet.
Friday 10/25/19
I sit here wrapped in a blanket to keep warm and it’s 90 degrees on the Santa Cruz coast! I will be in Medellin tomorrow. It promises to be much warmer than Bogota. First adventure of the day. I caught a cab to Western Union. The cab driver did not have change. I said I would get change and take a ride with him back to the hostel. The driver said he could not park on the main street so he dropped me off 3 blocks away. I walked the 3 long blocks to Western union, got the change and walked back to where the driver said he would wait. He didn’t wait. He had left unpaid. There were other taxis there but none of them would give me a ride to the hostel. ‘Barrio’ was the only word I understood from each cab driver. As the cabbies picked up passenger after passenger, I was beginning to feel like I was experiencing discrimination. Then a black man got out of a cab and that cab also refused to take me. So I had a cup of fresh mixed fruit and sat down and rested for a bit. Then I walked a ways and was immediately able to get a cab. In retrospect, I think it was more profitable for the driver to stay in the downtown area, rather than to drive out to the ‘barrio’. My place was a bit of a drive from downto+wn. I will never know. I got to bed early in preparation for tomorrow’s trip to Medellin.
Saturday 10/26/19 Day 1 Medellin bound.
Up at 5:15 this morning. I wanted to catch an early bus so I could see the countryside. Even the 12-hour bus ride beats flying—in my opinion. The bus was 2 hours late. But, at least, instead of jetting over the mountains and watching the countryside pass in a blur, I saw broad vistas with towns nestled in valleys and lush and colorful vegetation. We passed through several small towns as we traveled down a very long and winding 2-lane road. We stopped for a few moments at a bus station and the door to 1st class was opened. That’s right, 1st class on a bus—leg room, air conditioning, Wi-Fi, movies, et. al. For a brief moment I felt what the outside of the bus was like—high 70s/low 80s. Aww, a breath of warm air. We stopped five minutes later for a 40-minute break. After the break, the road straightened out, flattened out and turned into 4 lanes. It was raining when I arrived in Medellin. I paid to go pee, caught a cab, checked into room 911, then went shopping at a 24-hour market. I returned to 911 and crashed. No great adventures!
Sunday 11/27 Day 2
I have landed in an upscale area of Medellin. No street vendors, no little cafes, almost no taxi horns blaring and the sidewalks are not crowed. I will search for a down to earth barrio. Otherwise nothing, zilch, nada. A day of recuperation.
Monday
Slow during the day but I found a cantina that shows American sports, including Monday Night Football. One of my traveling goals was to meet expatriates and see what they thought of the country. What better way to meet Americans than to go somewhere and watch millionaires run up and down a field and bang into each other—football. I met Americans, watched Monday Night Football and focused my M. O. Wherever I go, I will look for football. Thurs. Halloween, I will watch the 49ers play and meet more Americans. Go Niners!
Tuesday
I went to an area called Poblado. Definitely not upscale but definitely alive. Street vendors, busy streets and sidewalks, small restaurants and tightly packed shops selling everything from wheel barrels to pizza. My kind of place.
Friends, neighbors and loved ones—I need your help. I have the sniffles. Nothing serious yet, so could you cross your fingers and pray or chant, or send me healing vibes so it doesn’t get any worse. Thanks.
Wednesday
Quiet day. A little writing, a little R&R and a couple of glasses of Chilean merlot. I have a full day tomorrow—a tour tomorrow until 5 and then the 49er game. Keep those good vibes coming.
One expat who does a bit of traveling said Medellin was his favorite city in the word. A realtor said he could find a place for 5 to 6 hundred a month. Just saying.
Thursday
Thanks for everyone’s ideas to keep me healthy. R&R and your good vibes kept my condition from progressing! The sniffles are gone!
At 7:30 am (an ungodly hour) I waited to be picked for a tour that started at 8. I nodded. When my eyes opened, it was 5 after 8. We contacted the company and a driver in a company car showed at 8:30—miscommunication. He tried to take me to the tour’s 1st stop which over an hour’s drive into the mountains above Medellin. He got lost three times. When we finally met up with tour, it was returning from the first stop, the one I most wanted to see. I did get a boat ride on a dam-created lake and saw Medellin cartel chief Pablo Escobar’s house. I saw a big rock that was a geological anomaly and spent a couple of hours in a beautiful town where I was cornered by a semi-drunk American who lived in the town. Both the rock and the beautiful town were crawling with tourist, mostly Colombian. Most of the day was spent in a mini-bus. I spent the evening watching the 49er’s win their 8thgame, talking with a couple of Americans and watching costumed Halloweeners pass by.
Friday
Getting ready for the flight to Cartagena tomorrow. Please pray for no great adventures.
Saturday
Finally, another great adventure! Everything was going fine until the cab driver dropped me off at the airport. I soon discovered that I was at the wrong end of the terminal. Like most modern airports, the distances between windows where one must stand in line are interminably long at Medellin’s international airport. First line—change digital ticket for paper ticket. Second line—check luggage. After standing in line for 30 minutes I had to decide whether to continue in line for another 30 minutes or go pee. I stayed in line. I made it to bathroom then headed to the line for the security checkpoint. My two knee replacements set off the alarm. I was patted down and my luggage was closely searched. I had already lost a corkscrew to security when I entered the country but they had missed a pair of mustache scissors and a butter knife—Medellin Security didn’t. Next, I headed for the passenger loading gate. I noticed there was no line. I thought that I was lucky until I found out that the gate had been closed for 30 minutes! I went back through security where I had to explain in my limited Spanish why I was going in the reverse direction. Back through the terminal to the ticket purchasing window to see if I could exchange my ticket for a plane leaving 5 hours later—no deal, buy a new ticket. I decided to get a ticket with another airline leaving in two hours. I stood in line again to buy another ticket—but wait. What about my luggage with the other airline? Back to another window then to an area to pick up my luggage. But wait—if the plane had left, why was my luggage still there? I don’t even want to know the answer. Back to check my luggage. An employee took pity on me and let me come to the head of the line. By this time my 75-year-old legs were complaining—loudly. I asked for and received a wheelchair and an attendant. I rolled through security. The only hurdle left was the actually air flight. I don’ like flying but I went with 1 hour in the air instead of eight and a half on the ground. None of this would have happened on a train.
I arrived in Cartagena following a light rain. It was hot and muggy.
“But mommy, Cartagena is much too hot and Bogota is much too cold but Medellin is just right. We shall see. Hot and muggy weather is not that bad.
Saturday/Sunday
The taxi ride from the airport was informative. The cab driver was knowledgeable of Cartagena history. The ‘Old City,’ that was walled, was built by the Spanish for protection from the English and pirates. Later the people of Cartagena throw out the Spanish and took over the walled city. The night I arrived, Cartagena was celebrating their take over of the Walled City. Speeches, drumming and celebrations were taking place outside everywhere. The cabbie took me to some apartments, went inside to check on my reservation, came back and told me that my reservation had been cancelled. WHAT? I showed him the address again. Oh, wrong place. On the way to the correct address we stopped at a grocery store for wine and provisions. The store didn’t have corkscrews so the taxi driver dug into his stuff and came up with a cork screw which he gave me. Evidently many stores sell wine, few sell corkscrews—go figure. The driver, who wanted to take me on a tour of the city, helped me check in, carried my luggage to my room and let me know he could take me on a tour for a good price.
I didn’t sleep well, got up and Netflix binged, tried bed again with no luck, binged and nodded out. When I opened my eyes, it was getting light. It was before 6 and I stepped out on the balcony. There was a light ocean breeze and the temperature was perfect. It was beautiful! I took a short, satisfying walk. About my new digs. The lobby, with an attached pool, showed signs of former splendor. But its luster had faded. My room was in dire need of a make-over. The former occupant had left: whole wheat pasta, pro biotic pills, a half bottle of tequila, a full bottle of Jack Daniels and 2 letters. An unopened letter was from a cemetery association. An opened letter was a bill from a Bali hotel to be paid in Indonesian Rupiahs. Who was this guy? I know it was a guy because he also left Old Spice deodorant. Was he an undercover jet setter who had recently buried an assassinated comrade? No, international jet setters don’t rent places with no hot water. Even so my predecessor is a mystery.
Monday
Had dinner at a sports bar inside of the Old City, watched Monday Night Football and had a conversation with an American. The beautiful architecture of this walled city is from the Spanish colonial period. The main square was bustling with tourist and vendors and horse drawn carriages.
Stayed up late again, dozed and awakened to the most beautiful time of day—in my opinion. Quiet and cool. Even though it gets hot and humid here, I am drawn to this climate. The feeling is akin to a smoldering sensuality. Enough said on that subject. I have signed up for another week in Cartagena which, so far, it is the most expensive city I have visited. But something is holding me here and I don’t know what.
Tuesday
Mellow Tuesday. Went shopping with Carlos, my cab driver, and took my dirty clothes to a laundry. Carlos is going to take me on a 2-hour tour of the city tomorrow.
Near where I am staying, I found a small grocery store in front of which there is a little, 4 table café/hang-out with a flat griddle. I asked the cook for a menu. The cook came from behind the counter, sat in front of me, gave me a serious look and said “Hot dog, hamburger or pizza.” I ordered a burger. I watched as the cook took a piece of meat, threw it on the griddle and chopped and chopped until it was essentially ground beef—from one cow.
I met an Australian chap who rents a place in back of the store. He is trying to get a job as a teacher. Friday, we are going to a small beach town a ways outside of Cartagena, where he lived for 2 years and where he hopes to get the teaching job. He has lived in the area for 5 years. He raves about the beach, Playa Santana, and says there are places for rent for $300 and $500 U.S.D. per month. The Aussie says the place is quiet but the owner of the store says it’s wild and crazy. I can use some of both. The expat seems overly enthusiastic about the beach and may be getting some sort of commission but it won’t hurt to check it out. I am excited and I hope it works out. I need a break from one week stays. A month sounds relaxing.
Wednesday
I had a bad night so I didn’t feel like going on the 12:00 tour with Carlos. Instead, my cab driver and I sat and drank wine, shared photos, I finally put the translation app on my cell and we otherwise shot the bull until 2:00, when it was time to pick up my laundry.
I had a hot dog at the hang-out while the Australian did something with my cell. He warned me about the celebrations tomorrow—fights and firecrackers. I will watch from my balcony until it looks safe.
Thursday
It wasn’t safe to leave the apartment building while the celebration was taking place. Two streets formed a V. Both streets blocked vehicle traffic. My apartment complex was situated between the two legs of the V. The four-lane thoroughfare on the right leg featured a long parade with decorated floats, lavishly costumed participants and occasional firecracker explosion. The crowd on one side of the road was four or five deep and blocked the entrance to my apartment complex. My balcony faced the other leg of the V, which was a two-lane affair. That road was a war zone. There were crowds on both sides of the street and down the middle groups of mostly young men were igniting firecrackers. There was a continuous cacophony of explosions. Some of the firecrackers were strings of the relatively mild type which one might find at a Chinese New Year celebration. These were exploded in the street and also flung into the screaming crowds. Then there were the firecracker detonations that sounded like cannon fired. It was dangerous out there.
I was meeting an American lady at 8:00 pm for her bon voyage party. I had a plan. The street actions were over at 7. I was going to wait for the crowd to clear, catch a cab and make it to the club by 8. Well, the best laid plans… and all that. The streets were blocked so I had to walk a ways to find an open street where I could catch a cab. In retrospect, I realized that finding an unoccupied taxi at the end of a crowded festival was not an easy task. It was after 8 by the time I caught a taxi. OK, a 15-minute cab ride to the club and I would only beS a little late—if traffic was not heavy. Traffic was heavy. I arrived at the club after 9 but my tardiness was forgiven. At the club, someone was buyin’ so I was flyin’. It was a fun night and I watched the end of the Raider game.
Friday
Another great adventure. It started a 9 am—not an ungodly hour, but close. I was going with the Australian to a town, Santana, which, according to the Aussie, was an hour by bus out of Cartagena. We stood in the hot sun and waited for the bus that would take us to a transfer point where we again waited in the hot sun for another bus. Bus number 2 took us to a town where we waited in the hot sun for a taxi to take us to Santana. Did I mention the joys of public transportation? If one is over 6 feet, public transportation sucks—I am 6’ 2”. We walked in the hot sun to two different Sapartments that I might rent. The apartments looked good and were cheap but the area was just too burdensome to reach and just too trashy—and I have fairly low standards. We waited in the hot sun for transportation to Playa Blanca, the beach about which the Australian had raved. We got a ride to the beach area. But wait! We were dropped off at the wrong entrance. So, we walked to the correct entrance, walked down to the beach and then walked over to a palapa—in the hot sun. Costa, the Aussie, was warmly greeted by his friends. I warmly greeted a chair and a Cuba libre. So, this was the beach Costa had said was one of the two best beaches in Colombia. I have no desire to see the other. The beach was as crowed as the Santa Cruz Boardwalk beach on a sunny Sunday. Costa said it wasn’t crowded at all. Understand, I come from Santa Cruz. The Santa Cruz area has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world and, unlike Playa Blanca, there is not a solid band of trash a few yards from the beach, the roads and the walkways. Unlike the frigid waters of Santa Cruz, the blue Caribbean water at this beach was like tepid bath water. Did I mention the hot sun? Positive note—I slept well that night without a sleeping pill!
Saturday
New digs for 10 days—Hostal Bambumar. The place is beautiful. Bamboo is everywhere—bed to bar to stairs. Great murals on the walls. The host is very friendly. The big problem, no kitchen access. When hunger raised its ugly head, I had to walk a few blocks in the rain—much better than the hot sun. I found a chicken place, a chain called Frisby. The ‘apeado’ chicken was extra crispy-my favorite. I actually ate at a place in Bogota that called itself Kentucky Fried Chicken—the Cornel’s likeness and all. Did either compare with US chicken by Col. Sanders? KFC Bogota-no way, Frisby-yes way.
There is a nice hang out spot on the roof. I met a couple from The Czech Republic there. We had a wonderful conversation. Their English was very good and they know more American history than most Americans. They also related a spiritual session they had with a shaman in Peru—very interesting.
Sunday
The day started off with a bang. The bathroom sink fell from the wall and I also discovered that breakfast ends at 10. I got up that morning at 11 so I was back on the street again looking for food. I thought I would stock up with enough to last a while. Big mistake. I am on the sea food diet—I see food I eat it. The extra food was devoured before bed time—which is usually about 3 am. The electricity was off for an hour—no lights, no internet, no air conditioning, no problem.
Monday
I went to an Old City bar to watch Monday Night Football—49ers vs Seattle Seahawks. I met a lady from Seattle who had a hundred bucks on the Seahawks, an Austrian who believed in pure capitalism and a New England Patriots fan who was there for the ribs. The Austrian and I discussed topics like competition, monopolies and poverty just to name a few. The Austrian was very intense, the Seahawk fan cheered and the Patriate fan did a splendid job on his ribs. A good time was had by all. I left when the game went into overtime, I couldn’t handle the stress of a close game.
Tuesday
I guess I have a schedule: breakfast before 10:00, read/write Facebook and Yahoo, write, free time until I’m hungry and walk to Subway/Domino’s Pizza/Frisby’s Chicken and make a choice for my evening meal. On the way to the food, I get a glass of very fresh orange juice from the same street vendor. When I return, I stop at the corner convenience store/hang-out and get 2 beers, a large diet Coke, bubbly water and some deep-fried food that is on display. Why am I going on and on about my schedule? Because nothing else happened on Tuesday. Maybe next I’ll talk about ubiquitous plastic.
Wednesday
I was following my schedule when I got a call. There was a room available for 750,000.00 COP a month, about $250.00 USD. I took a ride to have a look. The room is in a hostel in Punta Canoa, a small fishing village 20 minutes outside of Cartagena. The place is very funky but it is really quiet and I will have a space to write. Since the place is a hostel, I am hoping I will meet people passing through. So, next Monday I will be leaving the big city for a place in the bush. Will this be the place I decide to settle for the next 2 years? We shall see. But I do get the idea that my great adventures will be quiet for the next month.
Thursday 15 November 2019
I went to Western Union. It was located in a giant shopping mall, maybe even bigger than the Capitola Mall. That was my adventure for the day. It was almost as exciting as Thursday Night Football—I left after the first half of the game. I did get a chance to walk around part of the Walled City before the game. The Spanish Architecture was stunning and well preserved. The architecture was punctuated by horse drawn carriages. The carriages were decorated in the traditional style, the drivers—not so much. The carriages will take one on a tour of the old city or to spots in Cartagena. How those horses survive the Cartagena traffic is a miracle. In heavy traffic, lines of taxis, cars, motor cycles and busses wait with the thickness of a Good Times between their bumpers. Merging involves waiting for an opening the width of 10 Good Times to jump in and dare the vehicle that was cut-off to hit the offender. Taxis and buses stop to pick up passengers and ignore the blaring horns from the line of traffic behind them. Even the sidewalks can be a danger zone. Two lanes can morph into three lanes that uses part of the sidewalk for the newly invented lane. Motor cycles also use the sidewalk as a motor cycle lane. Then there are the slow-moving carts pulled by a man or a mule and the horse drawn carriages. When traffic is light, stop lights and traffic signs are treated like suggestions. When I am riding in a taxi, I close my eyes and pray I make it to my destination—so far so good.
Friday
No news is good news. I bought the biggest pair of flip flops I could find—still too small. That’s the news.
Saturday
Less exciting than Friday.
Sunday
No great adventure today. I watched the last quarter of the 49er game. That’s, it. Are you seeing a pattern? Tomorrow I head to the bush. I just hope I can handle the peace and quiet.
Monday 18 Nov, 2019
Exciting morning. I was all packed and ready to head to my new place, Punta Canoa, at 11 am. Then my ride informed me that he would not arrive until 2 pm. Oh, the trials and tribulations of an adventure seeker.
Punta Canoa is a quiet fishing village. The hostel is ‘rustic’. We waited for the manager/caretaker/cook for an hour. Bebi (baby), the manager, is in his early twenties. He gave me the key and opened the kitchen. I hunkered down, opened a bottle of wine and brought out the brie and bread. I may be in the bush but I’m still civilized. There is a Spanish restaurant in town near the hostel but it is closed on Monday. I had ramen for dinner.
No internet! I spent the evening writing and vegging. Oh, one more thing—mosquitoes!
Tuesday
Eggs with ‘stuff’ inside a cornmeal pocket and deep fried and coffee—that was breakfast. WIFI! It showed up this afternoon. I thought I wanted to get away from all that high-tech crap—I don’t. The hours I spent without the internet were traumatic. But I survived. Then, without warning, the World Wide Web was gone again and so was Bebi. For two hours I yelled Bebi’s name and I cursed in three languages—English, Spanish and Hausa. I thought that the modem had been stolen but it turned that Bebi had but the modem away and TURNED IT OFF. Aaarggggg! I used a few expletives, returned to room and continued the process of turning my brain into mush. Aaaah, I love technology. Was that a great adventure? Who cares, I have Netflix.
I walked into town, bought a few things and had a beer while I was peppered with questions by some local young men. All in all, a good day.
Wednesday
I need to get supplies for breakfast. I got up at 11—no Bebi, no arepa (a stuffed cornmeal pocket that is deep fried). Only coffee and fresh OJ to start the day. I had lunch at a small restaurant. I was given a choice, pork or beef. I picked pork. I got a bowl of soup, a substantial piece of pork, rice, beans and ice tea for 8,000.00 pesos—less than $3.00.
Four new Spanish speaking guests have arrived. They went out and returned with food. I thought it would be my chance to see what Colombians would choose for dinner. They chose hamburgers and fries. So much for local cuisine. Wait! It turned out that they are not Colombians, they are Spanish-speaking and English-speaking Frenchmen. So, the Frenchmen ate burgers and fries while I had red wine from Chile and brie from France. Go figure.
Thursday
Had some nice discussions with the Frenchmen. I finally jumped into the pond—refreshing. The French guys cooked dinner for everyone—curried chicken. Eleven of us sat at a table and enjoyed a nice meal.
Friday
The French are gone, so I will do what one does in a town that closes down at 4:30? Not much. I am planning on going into Cartagena next week—do a little shopping and breath some exhaust fumes. Until then, eat, sleep, write and Netflix.
Saturday
The day started out slow. I did my shopping thing—fried chicken, empanadas, bread, fruit and beer. I had dinner at the Spanish Restaurant, expensive but not great. Then another adventure—not so great. When I returned from dinner, a bottle of booze was missing from my room. It wasn’t so much the missing liquor, it was fact that I no longer felt my things were safe in my room. The owner, Carlos, fired the manager, Bebi, bought me a bottle of Colombian rum and invited me to join his friends and drink shots of an anise-based liquor. I joined and I drank. There were 12 or 15 of the Carlos’s friends—men, women and children. Only the men drank. I had accepted the communalism of the kitchen—missing beer, coffee and fruit but I still felt uncomfortable about the security of my room. Oh well, only three more weeks here. After that…?
Sunday
Mello day. It was the owner’s friends last night. One of the men tried to make up for our lack of communication by plying me with tequila and rum. Our communication skills actually declined. Another evening well spent.
Monday
Extra quiet today. Evidently, Mondays is a day of rest, especially for those who work on Sundays. So it got a little slower than very slow. It seems like two women have taken the place of Bebi. They spent the day cleaning and organizing the kitchen. It looks way better.
There were heavy winds at night. Gust of wind blew branches back and forth over the top of my room. It sounded like furniture being dragged across the roof. For the first time since I moved in, there were no dogs barking for the entire night. There had been non-stop barking all night, every night. I was all by my lonesome at the hostel with all the exit gates locked. Spooky.
Tuesday
OK, I hyperbolized about last night. Every night and day, it sounds like furniture being dragged across the roof. Last night it was just louder. There is an open door to the adjacent property so I wasn’t trapped inside. The dogs? After a week of 24-hour barking from dogs all over town—silence. That was a little spooky.
I got an uninvited cooking lesson. I’m in a fishing village so I bought a fish. I put about 2 Tbs of oil in a frying pan—to fry. The new hire saw what I was doing and she was so aghast she got the owner after trying to explain the problem. Sidebar: the people of the Cartagena area speak faster than anyone else in Colombia, maybe in all of the Spanish speaking world and they admit it. They also tend to drop the s at the end of words e.g. Carlos becomes Carlo. So trying to understand a Carthaginian is especially difficult. Back to the fish story. When Carlos, aka Carlo, saw me frying the fish, he was also aghast. He pulled out a bottle of oil and poured a cup of oil over my frying fish. I was aghast. The deep-fried fish tasted great!
Wednesday
I skipped Wednesday. Not much happened.
Thursday
Happy Thanksgiving.
Friday
TGIF? Not really, just another day in Punta Canoa—quiet, except for barking dogs.
Saturday
Another great adventure. I took a bus into Central Cartagena. Since Punta Canoa is the end/beginning of the line, I got one of the two seats that could accommodate my legs. The first 40 minutes were fine—open road with only a few stops. The closer we got to Central Cartagena, the more crowded it got—the bus and the streets. To catch a bus in Colombia, one merely waves one’s hand up and down. The bus will stop and pick one up regardless of what the traffic situation is and regardless of the number of passengers already on the bus. No problem, I just kept my seat. My Azzie friend had told me where to get off, but I was anxious that I would miss my stop. I almost got off too soon but I made it to the shopping mall, collected some money, did some shopping, had a big cup of coffee Americano and prepared to leave. That’s when it hit me, I had no idea what bus I had to catch to get back to Punta Canoa. I panicked. I asked someone. First, I was told it was too late, I would have to take a taxi—expensive. Fortunately, a bystander said no, it was not too late and wrote down the name of the bus line to catch and where to catch it. Since there are 10 or 15 bus lines in Cartagena, his help was invaluable. I caught the right bus, made it to Punta Canoa, exited the bus and fell flat on my butt. Fortunately, my laptop, a big sealed bag of pasticcios and two bottles of merlot broke my fall. Nothing else was broken except my pride.
Sunday
First adventure: Since I was a seasoned bus rider (one bus ride), I was not worried about catching a bus. Carlos said something about an Iron Man contest and busses but I didn’t understand. It was a sunny day with no breeze, probably over 100 degrees in the shade. I waited for a bus in the shade. Usually buses arrive every 15 to 30 minutes. I waited 45 minutes—no bus. I was going to be late so I put my life on the line. There are people on motorcycles who will take on a passenger. Motorcycles have an advantage over busses. They ride on sidewalks, zigzag through traffic that is standing still or moving, ride on the wrong side of the road, go the wrong way down a one-way street and run red lights. I reasoned a motorcycle, using these death-defying tactics, could make up the time. So I put my life on the line and got on a motorcycle. We got to the main road and it was blocked for a triathlon (not Iron Man) No busses were allowed through. A policeman stopped us until two cyclists pedaled by and then directed us to an alternate road. The motorcyclist stopped at one of the towns we came to, asked for 5K pesos. We were not half way there. He directed me to the bus to catch—2.5K. The bus went to a terminal outside of central Cartagena where I was informed that I needed to buy a card with points before I could board a bus. I was already an hour late. I opted for a taxi—$25K. The triathlon ended in the Old City in front of the sports bar where I was headed so streets were blocked and traffic was crawling. I got to the bar two hours late, met the Azzie, watched the 49ers loose and took a bus back to the hostel.
Second adventure: I went to bed about 2 am. At 3:30 I heard my name- “James”. Since Carlos, the owner, was the only one who called me James, I thought it was Carlos (everybody else, including people in town called me Mister). I put on pants and went outside—no one there. I yelled “Carlos”—nothing. I thought I must have been dreaming. I went back to bed. Then I heard a softly spoken “James” again. “Who is it,” I asked. Another soft response in Spanish I didn’t understand. I went back outside—no one. I walked to the front of the hostel using my phone flashlight. A guest, who was sleeping outside, said he saw a man and the man had left. When I was returning to my room, I came to a bench that was blocking the way. The intruder was still there—hiding. I walked around the perimeter of the hostel with my cellphone flashlight—no one. I was freaked. I went back to my room. Shortly, I heard a tapping on my door. “Who is it?” No answer. Then a tapping on my window.
“Who is it? What is your name.”
“Open the door,” said the soft voice.
“No!,” I said.
“Open the door,” came the soft voice again. I was getting spooked.
“No! I want to see!” A shadow streaked by my window. I tentatively stepped outside—no one. I went inside. There was a tap on the window.
“I want to see!” I yelled. Another tap on the window. I went to the window with my cell flashlight and pulled back the curtain. A face came into view. It was Bebi, the kid who had been fired for stealing my booze.
“Leave!” I yelled a few times. I went outside and there was Bebi standing on the other side of a fence. He held out a closed hand and indicated he had something for me. I had lent him $20K but I never expected to get it back.
“What is it?”
“Closer,” he said. I moved closer with my cellphone flashlight. Without warning, he reached across the fence and grabbed my cellphone. But I held on and started yelling “Bandito”. He let go of my cell and ran.
Was that a great adventure?
Monday
The police showed up. They will be searching. A young Spanish couple arrived who spoke English. That was nice. Carlos finished my imported French Petit Camembert—not so nice.
Tuesday
An extended family of about 15 showed up tonight. Grand parents to grand kids.
Wednesday/Thursday/Friday
The notes I made for these days disappeared. Not much happened. The Spanish family and the air conditioning left on Wednesday, the Spanish couple left on Thursday, Friday - the air conditioning has not yet returned. Existing without air conditioning is almost a great adventure.
Saturday
Quiet. Carlos, the owner, has been gone for the last four days. It’s costing the workers because they have to buy more cigarettes for the extra cigarette breaks they are taking with the extra coffee breaks and the just because breaks. Oh, I forgot, TV breaks and the occasional beer break. Carlos is not barking orders and the morning sawing, hammering and drilling have ceased. The cleaning lady and one of the laborers are spending the nights here and I have met the cleaning lady’s son and the laborer’s son and grandson. Everyone, including myself, is more relaxed.
Sunday
I decided to have a beer and jump into the pond. I put on my trunks and sat outside with my beer. Then, it started to rain and I started dancing in the rain! That was my great adventure for the day.
Monday
Awaken at 7:30 in the morning by hammers banging—Carlos must be back. Otherwise quiet day.
FLASH! Late night arrival. English speaking?
Tuesday
Two young Germans showed up last night. They were only here for the night. I had a few words with one who spoke English. They bought a travel vehicle in Bogota, drove to Cartagena and are headed for Peru. They plan to sell the car/van in Peru. They spoke very little Spanish so I actually acted as interpreter. I head for Belize Sunday. I am in contact with a realtor and my Airbnb host. I realized that when I was thinking about conversations with them, I was thinking in Spanish! Could I be learning Spanish by osmosis? Maybe total emersion does work—slowly and painfully.
Wednesday
Quiet. Yes I’m bored but I’m getting more writing done.
Thursday
New arrivals today, Jamaican, Dutch, German—English speakers. We had a nice conversation. All three are in the medical field. They believed that obesity is environmental and not connected to genetics. They said that the genetic theory is an American creation to make Americans feel better about their obesity. I respectively disagreed.
Friday
Why hasn’t anyone said anything about Friday the 13th? I spent the whole day not being paranoid! Germany, Holland and Jamaica didn’t spend the night, so no more conversations. Air conditioning back. Nice but not essential.
Saturday
Plan: Get up early, get packed before Costa, my Australian friend, showed up, rest and relax. Well, I slept in and when I went for my coffee and OJ, Carlos, the owner, was preparing for a big birthday party—his own. The coffee was made but my oranges were gone. I barely got the packing process started when the Azzie showed up. We chatted, he laid on my bed, then he took me to lunch. We came back, chatted and Carlos insisted we eat. We ate, again. Costa laid on a bench in front. He asked when the last bus left then went to sleep. My packing energy dissipated. I had planned on making a salad that night but the kitchen was busy and half of a cucumber, half of a carrot, a tomato and an onion were missing. Costa left and I moved to the rest and relaxation part of the plan. I wasn’t leaving until 5 on Sunday—time enough to pack and make a salad. Right?
Sunday
Sunday started off fine. I packed and made a salad. Only three tasks left-get food for trip, clean up, get dressed. Went to get chicken—not ready yet, come back in twenty minutes. I wanted to cut chicken into manageable pieces before I changed clothes but I changed—I’ll figure a way to eat the chicken later. Carlos was going to pick me up at 5. I thought I had plenty of time when Carlos knocked on the door and said 5 minutes to 5. I got dressed, hurriedly, got my stuff together, hurriedly, and rushed out to meet Carlos, it was only 4:45. Stopped to pick up the chicken, it was not ready as promised. Carlos was irritated he had to wait. Then as we were leaving, I remembered that I forgot my medication—more irritation.
I got to the airport by 6 which was fortunate because the 10:56 flight was running so late, they put passengers on an 8:30 flight. Yea, I got to spend an extra two and a half hour lay over in cold Bogota. Next, a seven and a half hour lay over in San Salvador, El Salvador. Maybe my imagination but the people in San Salvador seemed to smile more.
Monday
I was in the air to Belize in a twin engine, prop airplane and I hadn’t slept since Saturday night. When I arrived in Belize City, it was raining. A short plump woman yelled out “Somebody help Daddy” then a young man asked “You Daddy?”. I answered “Yes, I’m Big Daddy”. He answered “Ya man, you big daddy”. That was fun.
The taxi ride to Consejo Shores was harrowing. The taxi’s mechanical viability was questionable. It was night and there were things missing from the road—reflectors, lane separation markings, signs announcing large voids in the road. And we were moving rather fast. It was raining and the taxi’s windshield wipers were going with no wiper blades! Squeech, squeech, squeech for an hour!!! I think the CIA should look into bladeless windshield wipers as a form of torture. The driver said something about a fuse. An hour out of Belize City, the driver popped the hood, did something and the wipers stopped, but oncoming cars started flashing their bright lights—one fuse, double duty. Once in Consejo Shores, the driver called the owner three times before finding the road to her house. The owner had a large pit bull that growled and barked at me. The owner said she would not let the dog, Memphis, bite me. I took my first hot shower since Medellin and went to bed.
Tuesday
The dog became really friendly—now a great pal. Beautiful house with an attached-screened area, a roof top area and a pool. Unfortunately, one needs a vehicle to get around. Mostly nice houses with regularly cut grass and an ocean shoreline. Lots of for sale signs for homes and unimproved lots. Outside of the village are miles of sugar cane fields. Sabrina, the Airbnb host, took me to meet Eddy. He was going to take me to the village’s one market. Instead, he took me to the restaurant bar next door, bought me a couple of beers, drove into Corozal to a restaurant bar across the street from the ocean, bought some more drinks, and bought me dinner—shrimp alfredo. I have yet to see the inside of the market. Eddy has an unending string of interesting stories. He will be cooking Louisiana gumbo, greens and rice for Christmas. That night it rained heavily.
Wednesday
I took a 20-minute trip with eight other people in a boat with an outboard motor in light rain to Chetumal Mexico for a shopping day. We had to go through Belize and Mexican customs going and returning. Chetumal is one of the nicer cities I have seen in Mexico. Shopped at Walmart, went to a giant mall and had Panda Express for lunch. While we were in Walmart it rained heavily. We miss the heavy rain when we returned but it was raining. The water was warmer than the air.
That night we went to a restaurant for ‘Meet a Gringo Night’. Sabrina, two of her guests, Eddy and I had dinner and drinks. A group of about 15 other Gringos sat at another table. I didn’t meet any new Gringos.
Thursday
My laptop held me captive until I escaped and took a walk. I did not realize how much it had warped my sense of time until I returned from my walk and learned I had missed my ride with Eddy. He was going to take me into town for karaoke. A missed adventure?
Friday
Sabrina gave me a ride to an open-air farmers market and filled my back pack with veggies. I walked to the town square, paid one Belize dollar to use a restroom, had 2 tacos and fried chicken, investigated the area and waited for Sabrina. I found out that Eddy had won a bottle of whiskey at the karaoke contest that I missed. That would have been an adventure.
Saturday
I went into town (Corozal) with Sabrina and a couple staying at her house for supplies and lunch (garlic chicken wings) and a little football. Watched Eddy play a wicked harmonica. Sabrina introduced me to Brian, a man who rented in town who said that there were open apartments. Returned to town that night and I reserved an apartment for 30 days, went and had egg rolls while the 49ers beat the Rams. Corozal is looking like a place where I could stay for two years.
Sunday
Went to a Christmas party then rode a bicycle to Eddie’s. The sky opened so I left the bicycle and went into town with Eddie and watched football. Maybe the rain was the gods’ way of telling me to go and watch the Seahawks loose and put the 49ers back into first place—maybe.
Monday
Went into town with Michael and Elizabeth, Sabrina’s other guests. I used the ATM and walked around a bit. Lots of markets—Mexican, Chinese, Indian. People smile a lot here; I really like that.
To all of you who have taken the time to follow my adventures and misadventures, thank you. I have taken a great deal of pleasure in communicating with those who have chosen to respond. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.
I will be celebrating Christmas in shorts and flip flops. I hate to sound like the Grinch but I will not miss the commercialized Christmas that has taken away the true spirit of the season—Peace on Earth and good will toward others. So, a great present would be my book (smiley face).
Tuesday
Christmas carolers passed by sitting on the end of a Ford F150 and in a golf cart. We wanted to join but there was no room for us on the cart or at the end of the pick-up. No room at the end, on Christmas? No, we didn’t have to camp out in a manger.
Wednesday Merry Christmas
Elizabeth, Michael, and I had dinner with a Belize family. We ate outside—rice and beans, ham, chicken and potato salad. Four people at another table played spin the bottle. Whoever faced the bottle tip had to drink a shot of rum. Not the spin the bottle I remember.
Thursday Boxing Day
I made the big move into town today—Cactus Plaza Apartments. The front of the apartment house is magical—bright, vibrant colors. The room has everything I wanted EXCEPT hot water. The wi-fi is flakey and I have to climb three flights of stairs, no problem. But no hot water! —major bummer.
Facebook has disappeared from my cell. I am having a hard time send photos.
Friday
I slept in. I walked to the bank to use the ATM. On the way back, I stopped and had some chicken chow mein, my first meal of the day. It was dark when I left the restaurant. I made it back, money tightly clasp in hand. I have never felt in danger here, I just love to clasp money.
Saturday
Shopping day. Pot, pan, fork, plate, coffee mug, bed spread et al. I was a regular Suzy homemaker.
Sunday
I watched the 49er victory and danced with the waitress.
Monday
I did some walking around town. The walking is taxing. When I return, I have to sit down and rest before I climb the three flights of stairs.
I went to the open market and bought some veggies then to a restaurant and had traditional rice and beans. The rice is brown. One has to ask for white rice which, unfortunately, seems to be catching on—signs in restaurant saying “We have white rice”.
Tuesday New Year’s Eve
Everybody have a SPLENDIFEROUS New Year!
Wednesday
I celebrated by not celebrating. Last night, I wrote, made popcorn, binged on mindless stuff and watched the sun come up as I went down.
I walked into town. Most things were closed.
Thursday
I found out what fry jacks are. Fry jacks are thin flour tortillas folded over and deep fried. I haven’t had stuffed fry jacks yet.
Friday
Went to Edward’s father’s house again for a bar-b-que. We ate, drank, and played checkers and dominoes. We even did a little dancing. Fun
Saturday
I had stuffed fry jacks. They were tasty but the stuffing made the shell less crispy. I Watched a little football. Did I mention that beer is $2.00 a bottle, 275 ml and 9 proof?
Sunday
Football, beer, cheese burger. I know, it’s getting boring. I like it boring.
Monday
I had an adventurous time with the Belize Department of Immigration. I needed to get a 30-day extension on my visa. When I arrived at the office it was closed and a crowd waited outside. The sign on the door said “Closed Back at 3:30”. It was 12:30. I decided to have a bite to eat. I returned at 2:00, the crowd was inside and the sign still said “Closed Back at 3:30”. I went inside and stood in line for 30 minutes. When it was my turn, I was given a partially illegible form to fill out which I could have filled out while standing in line. Then, I was told to go to the Department of the Treasury, three blocks away, pay $25.00 and return with the receipt, which I did. I waited for another 30 minutes while the wheels of bureaucracy slowly turned. I finally got my passport back and left. The sign on the door still said “Closed Back at 3:30”.
Tuesday
No action today
Wednesday
It’s been overcast the last few days which is great when I walk into town. Today the skies opened and poured for 15 minutes. There is an overhang on the third floor so I couldn’t dance in the rain but I watched as the heavens dumped huge amounts of water on the city. The rainy season was light this year and locals say rain this late is unusual.
Thursday/Friday
We are got more rain, heavy at times. OK, this rain thing is getting old. I’m stuck inside all day.
For the few readers who are following my adventures, I have decided to present my usual daily activity and, from now on, deliver a once- week preview of what I expect to happen.
Daily: I get up, have a cup of coffee and the juice of three oranges. I do some writing then have something to eat. I walk into town (if it’s not raining), do some shopping, return and then recover from my walk. I do some more writing and I read and respond to Facebook and email. Then I eat, drink and binge.
One-week preview: Saturday afternoon I will watch the 49ers defeat the Vikings. That’s all I got—see you next Friday.
Sunday-It rained
Monday-All day it looked like it was going to rain. It didn’t.
Tuesday-At 3:00 a.m. heavy rains poured and strong winds blew. I spent the morning responding to 55 Facebook emails that Yahoo had spammed.
Wednesday-More rain
Thursday-Scottie’s had a Karaoke night. I actually got up and sang. Only a few people left. We got more rain.
Friday-It looked like rain but I took a chance and walked into town. It rained. I was under an awning so I only got a few drops. I took a taxi from town back to Cactus Plaza.
Saturday-No rain
Sunday
After the 49er’s first touchdown, I danced in the rain (I had one drink three hours before the Niner TD). I did a pole dance after the Forty Niner victory (and after several drinks). I got an ovation for my pole dance. GO NINERS!!!—next stop SUPERBOWL!!!
Monday
Today we remember a fallen warrior.
I am old enough to have watched the live broadcast of The Reverend Martin Luther King Junior’s “I have a dream” speech. Over all of my life, of all the speeches from all of the civil rights leaders, his has been the only one that brought a tear to my eye. What a beautiful dream.
I started my walk into town when it started sprinkling. I should have turned around and headed back to my digs but noooo, I decided to challenge the rain gods and I kept on walking. Rain gods, don’t you dare rain on me on MLK’s birthday! Guess what? After a few more drops, the rain stopped. Wasn’t that exciting?
Thursday
I kicked it on the karaoke scene with Bobby Darin’s “You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby”.
Friday
Getting packed for my flight tomorrow from Corozal, Belize to a layover in Dallas/Fort Worth then to El Paso. From El Paso I will travel by train to Salinas—back in time for the Superbowl. GO NINERS!!!
Saturday
7 A.M. (An ungodly hour) I got started on another adventure. I had arranged for Joe (not his real name) to take me to the airport. His fee was high but he had lent me a cell phone, I had gone to his place for a meal twice, and he had done a favor for me. He had insisted that because of the slow check-in and the long Belizean immigration process, I should be at the airport four hours before boarding—OK. He also said he would help me at the airport. He said to be ready at 7:00 A.M. sharp. At 7:20 a cab showed up but he was not the driver and his wife was accompanying him. They were going to Belize City—OK. It was a two-and-a-half-hour drive to the airport. I nodded out for a bit until my bladder began to make its presence known. I told Joe that I needed to go. Joe said we would be at the airport in a few minutes, would I hold it—OK. 20 minutes later, my bladder was becoming insistent and I was about to become insistent when we reached the airport, so I held it. Joe carried my bags into the airport, said good-bye and was gone—OK. WAIT! what about all that help he was going give me at the airport? With the help of the guy pushing my wheel chair, I completed checking my bags and going through immigration in under one and a half hours. I had been played. Joe and his wife must have needed to get to Belize City early and had started 20 minutes late, thus, no time to stop and relieve my bladder or help me at the airport and thus I needlessly spent two hours waiting for a plane—not OK. One cabbie crossed of the list.
The plane ride to Dallas/Fort Worth was very painful. I sat in the middle seat, which was constructed for individuals under six feet tall, for three and a half hours with my knees planted firmly against the back of the seat in front of me. I arrived at the layover, revisited by some long dormant areas of pain. The flight from Dallas/Fort Worth to El Paso was a breeze. I was the only one in a row of three seats and I had plenty of leg room.
I spent the night at one-star Motel Whatever in El Paso. I called for a pick-up and was told someone would be there in ten minutes. After several calls and an hour and a half wait, I was picked up—one star.
At first glance, the room looked fine. But the dead bolt didn’t work, and the unplugged refrigerator had melted all over the floor. The thought of electrocution crossed my mind when I plugged in the fridge. I informed the front desk of the problems. The response was “Oh”—one star.
The Wi Fi didn’t work. The response: “Someone will look at it tomorrow”—one star.
I was ready to take my first hot shower in over a month. I moved the lever to full hot—nothing but cold water. As I was moving the lever to off, I felt hot water. The cold water was marked hot and hot water was marked cold—one star. I drank tap water for two months in Colombia and ate street food in Colombia and Belize for three months—no problem. But one complimentary breakfast at Motel Whatever, big problem—zero stars.
The train arrived seven hours behind schedule.
Sunday
The train ride was perfect, except for the seven hour late thing. If one is in a hurry, one should not take the train. The train arrived in Yuma at 7:00 A.M., only six hours behind schedule. Of all the train stops I have encountered, the Amtrak station in Yuma was, without a doubt, the least impressive.
Monday
I recovered from the night without sleep. But even though I stayed up all night, no fun, stimulating or late night/early morning conversations materialized.
Tuesday
Lunched on the Colorado River.
Wednesday
Lunched at ‘Da Boys’ in Old Town Yuma.
Thursday
I went to Los Algodones Mexico, had a little dental work done and bought some medications. I went to the Quechan Tribal Casino Restaurant for steak and lobster only to find out that steak and lobster are served on Friday, Saturday and Sunday only—bummer.
Friday
12:49 A.M. On the train, on my way to Union Station in L. A. for a four hour layover.
10:10 A.M On my way to Salinas and then...you know where I’m headed. I will be in Santa Cruz for the next four months.
I sat in my La-Z-Boy for the first time in forever—aaaaaaaaaah, a chair perfectly molded to my body and able to adjust exactly to my desired positions.
