Let’s play ball.

Leon was surrounded by volcanos and one of the popular things to do was sand boarding down the volcanic sand on one of those peaks. Big Foot was the place to book those tours but we weren’t in the mood to go hiking up a volcano nor sliding down it, particularly when we saw who was going on the tour that day. A group of young loud girls carrying matching Coach purses arrived at the hostel as we were eating breakfast. “So, like, do you speak English ” to co-owner Gemma (from Birmigham, England). They were too loud in that teenager sort of way – hoping people were listening to them, but having nothing interesting to say – as they waited for the tour van to arrive. They poked around the hostel gingerly, looking down their nose and saying “oh this is those places were those people who travel a long time stay.” And taking out a camera to document their experience. They touched things gingerly and stared at all the guests as if we were animals in the zoo. What these girls were doing in Nicaragua was a mystery.

We asked Gemma what else there was to do in the town. She understood our reluctance to go on the volcano tour with the designer princesses and suggested a baseball game instead.

“They’re crazy about baseball here,” Gemma continued, “it’s really fun.”

I was skeptical. Baseball is internationally ridiculed as one of the most boring sports. But for a Brit to suggest it would be fun day swayed me. When in Leon…

Out on the street I flagged down a cab. There was already a woman in it but it was normal for people to share cabs and it meant that the ride was only 15C each for us, or less than a dollar. When the driver found out we were going to the baseball game, he became very excited. He sang the praises of the Leon Leones team (that’s the Lion Lions, in English). And predicted that Leon was going to thrash the other team Norte Atlantica. His reasoning? Pacific teams were infinitely better than Caribbean ones. This rivalrly goes back hundreds of years when the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua was separate from the rest of the country. It was under British rule while the Pacific side was Spanish. Our cab driver was Spanish and apparently had not heard that Nicaragua had been a united country for a long time.

I guess rivalries die hard. Especially when they concern the country’s favourite sport. Our driver told us that Leon were the national champions and the best team in Central America. When he found out we were Canadian, he began going on about the Montreal Expos (I’m not sure he knew that they were RIP) and a local hero who played with them. He also began naming other Nicaraguan players that played in Big Leagues. Being a non-baseball fan I recognized none of them but didn’t have the heart to admit it. He let us off at the stadium and regretted he wasn’t able to join us, giving Adrian a thumbs up (how did he know about his signature pose) as he drove away. Nicaraguan taxi drivers sure are different from Honduran ones.

We bought our general admission somber (shade) tickets (20C each = just over $1) and found seats behind first base. The fame had already started but the stands were still filling up. Although it was just after 10 there was plenty of beer for sale and many people were partaking. Many also had large bottles of rum that they were pouring into cups of ice. At first it was like any other baseball game, that is kind of boring. But as the stands filled up and more was drunk, it became a lot of fun.

The crowds were as enthusiastic as the cab driver. And we could see the rowdiest part behind the third base just beside the gated off visitors section. The two sections were trash talking each other but it all appeared good natured. The old English-Spanish division was apparent from the names on the back of the jersey’s (Delgado, Salgado, Muñoz vs. Fox, Campbell and Patterson) but didn’t factor into any of the insults thrown back and forth to each other. Instead, there were a lot of comments about people’s mothers and sexual orientation chanted with the help of a brass section and bass drum sitting in the stands.

After 7 innings, both teams left the field. The score was 3-1 for Leon. We assumed this was some sort of 7th inning stretch minus the cheesy half-time show. But when the players came out again wearing different uniforms and the scoreboard was cleared we realized that it was a doubleheader of two shortened games.

I developed a favourite Leon player, a scrawny guy that appeared to be 12 and just a titch over 5 feet. At first, pitches often went over his head and he was often walked. Adrian and I decided that he was the underdog to root for and imagined him frustrated by the pitches and just waiting to get a pitch he could swing at. Indeed when the pitcher finally threw something at his level, he almost hit a home run – the closest anyone got during the two games.

As the game went on, even the shade was 36 degrees. But the two incredibly drunk guys in front of us kept us super entertained. They alternated between play fighting and demanding sloppy kisses from each other.

When we started to get hungry, we eyed all the vendors trying to decide what to eat. Plantains with cole slaw? Tortillas filled with new cheese, sour cream and onions? Or long skinny deep fried bread? In the end Adrian came back with hot dogs. They were Nicaraguan favourites and went perfectly with the setting.

After 13 innings of baseball my interest began to wane, until a catcher caught a ball in the balls. C'mon that's always entertaining or else why would America's Funniest Home Videos still be on air. It also seemed to reinvigorate the crowd as they hoped one of the teams would score as they went into extra innings. At the top of the 9th, Leon scored for their second win of the morning and the crowd went wild.

We caught a taxi back into town. In the taxi’s rearview mirror I could see that Adrian and I were both burnt despite sitting in the shade. Stupid sun bouncing off the concrete. So we spent the rest of the day at the hostel trying to cool off under the fans with mojitos and giant beers. Luckily the annoying girls from this morning were long gone.

Shopping with the Sandinistas.

Before today, everything I new about Nicaragua’s recent history was based on an old SNL skit from the 80s staring Jimmy Smits. All I remember is that every actor was deliberately over-pronouncing Hispanic words like Nicaragua much to Jimmy Smits’ chagrin. Oh and I remember that it was hilarious. Although the video isn’t on youtube, I did manage to find a transcript but it’s not the same as hearing Phil Hartman and Mike Meyer’s gargle while speaking Spanish. At the time of that skit, Nicaragua was in the news a lot, something to do with the Sandanistas, the Contras, and Ollie North. And today we were going to find out what all that meant.

First we needed to figure out our accommodation. Big Foot now had a double room available for $13 US but Adrian set off in search for something better. Big Foot definitely wasn’t the worst place we’ve stayed (not even close) but it was a typical backpackers place – a little dark, a little dingy – and we were hoping for something a bit better. Like private bathrooms. Yes, it was day 7 in the saga of our bad stomachs and we most likely needed some pharmaceutical and or medical intervention. Once we got settled it was on our to do list. But the news from Adrian’s reconnaissance mission wasn’t good. Two nicer places now had private rooms available but for the high prices of $29 and $31. We weighed our options and decided to stay put. The staff were incredibly nice and the cheap price meant we didn’t have to rush off. The mojitos may have figured into the equation, as well as, the pool table. But the free wifi was the deciding factor. So while Adrian played pool I blogged and attempted to close the huge gap between my last post and our current location and then we headed out into the city.

First stop? The usual, the central park. Gazebo? Check. Cathedral? Check. City Hall? Check? Street meat? Time for lunch. Now you’re probably thinking “street meat but your stomachs are bad.” Exactly, my friend. We really had nothing to lose. So we ordered up the Nicaraguan specialty, $1foot long hot dogs and 25¢ popsicles. The hot dogs were scrawny bright pink wieners in big fresh buns and topped with shredded cabbage (aka the Central American version of lettuce), pickles, ketchup and mayonnaise. And they were tasty. While we were eating, we did some people watching. The central park was a local hang out with vendors selling kids toys, balloons and ice cream and families attempting to pull their kids away from the vendors. Nicaragua was definitely less touristy than other towns we’d visited on the gringo trail.

We walked around the square to get a good look at the surrounding buildings. Besides the usual suspects there was the bishop’s palace, an old college and what looked like the remains of an abandoned building. We were going to walk buy it when a crusty old man beckoned us over.

“Museo?” was all he said as he waved us inside.

With nothing better to do we followed him inside. Mostly out of curiosity: what could this broken down building possibly contain? The man spoke no English and after we paid a 25C entrance fee began to give us a guided tour of the building which we discovered was the Museum of the Revolution owned and operated by Sandinista Veterans. The displays were a collection of yellowed newspaper clippings and faded photocopies loosely taped up on the pealing walls. I translated for Adrian as he traced the history of the revolution all the way up to the present. I did okay except for two times when I will admit I had no idea what he was talking about.

The man obviously he had no love for the US and from the way he told the story I could see why. As we traveled through Central America, we had learned about successive US government attempts to control these small countries in order to maintain their business profits in this part of the world. In fact, that's where the term banana republic comes from. Way back when United and Standard Fruit Company’s (now known as Dole and Del Monte) made huge investments in the these countries and to protect them puppet presidents backed by the US were installed to better serve American business interests. In Nicaragua, US involvement had also included an invasion. A guy named William Walker invaded the country, overthrew the government and elected himself president back in the 1850s. That lasted for 5 years until he was overthrown and executed. But that didn’t stop the US from continuing to install various presidents over the next 50 years until the 1920s when a guy named Sandino decided to do something about it. Get it? Sandino -> Sandinista.

Bet you had no clue that whole Sandinista thing was that old. Yet it wasn’t news until the 1980s. So what happened during those 60s years? Well, apparently it was a long back and forth struggle between those that opposed US involvement, like Sandino, and the conservatives led by a whole bunch of dictators named Somoza. Sandino was captured and killed in the 30s but others picked up where he let off leading to 50 years of civil war. In 1979, the Sandinistas finally over threw the last of the Somoza dictators and everyone was happy, even President Carter expressed his support for the new government and pledged a bunch of aid money to help Nicaragua rebuild after 50 years of civil war. However, in 1981 Carter was replaced by Regan, who wasn’t as enamoured with the leftist Sandinista government. He suspended all aid and then decided to send money to the counterrevolutionaries (or Contras) now hiding out in Costa Rica, Honduras and El Salvador. Oh and it wasn’t just money. The UN or was it the War Crimes tribunal found the US guilty of planting mines in the waters of Nicaragua and attempting a few assassination attempts (I think, this is one of those times that I got a bit lost). To save face, the US government stopped all public funding for the Contras. But Regan and his cadre weren’t ready to stop. And that’s when Oliver North stepped in to help.

A secret deal was made with Iran. The US would sell them weapons and then use the proceeds to fund the Contras. And then everyone got caught. Although Nicaragua dropped out of the news afterwards. The US continued to fund the Contras and the civil war waged on. Not ending until 1999 with the help of the Costa Rican president, whose efforts won him the Nobel peace prize.

All that info was overwhelming. But it really helped to explain why Nicaragua was still relatively new on the tourist trail. It was only 10 years ago that things had died down. Surprisingly, all this hadn’t created an Anti-American sentiment in the country. The animosity was focused on corrupt governments and big business with the grafitti outside proclaiming Death to the Imperial Invaders (photo above). Although the way our guide said Norteamericano was definitely not a compliment, the people of Nicaragua reminded me a lot of those in Guatemala: they were happy to see tourists and eager to make a good impression. In fact, our crusty guide then offered to take us through the rest of the building which had been the old city hall before the revolution. It was really just a shell. But the grand staircase was still intact although now covered in FSLN (Sandinista party) banners. We followed him up the stairs all the way to the roof for a great view of the city. Then said our goodbyes but not before Adrian posed for his requisite thumbs up photo.

Yup, that’s what we got for our $2 entrance fee. And it was a lot so we decided to call it a day. Now it was time to counteract all that anti-imperialist and capitalist sentiment by going shopping. Apparently we weren’t the only ones in Nicaragua who felt that way. For the first time on our travels we discovered a grocery store that was packed with food and just as packed with families doing their weekly shopping. It appeared that Nicaraguans had learned to love some of that American influence, particularly when it came to shopping for big American brand names in a big American style supermarket. And we were quite happy because it meant shopping cost half what it had anywhere else.

A hunka hunka burnin' bus.

(Warning: sarcasm ahead) Woohoo, another travel day. My favourite. In order to make this one a little easier, I had opted for the more expensive Tica bus – a Costa Rican line that runs from Mexico to Panama and a favourite for Central American cross border travel. It was also more expensive but I figured a direct air conditioned ride from Tegucigalpa to Estelli was worth it.

We headed to the bank to take out a bit of money – we had enough for our bus tickets but borders (especially in Central America) don’t usually have bank machines and you can guarantee you’ll have to pay some sort of fee even if it’s not a legitimate one. (Tip of the day is always have local cash on you when crossing the border.)

The one thing I’d forgotten to do online the night before was write down the address of the Tica bus station. Unlike San Pedro Sula, in Tegu all the bus companies had their own stations sort of in the same district but not close enough to make it easy. This is actually quite common in Central America and the reason I hate changing buses because it usually involves a cab ride that costs more than the bus fare. Of course the internet at the hotel was still moving slower than a comatose snail and before the page could load up I realized we didn’t have much time left to get to the bus station.

I flagged down a cab (grr, Honduran taxi drivers) and for the first time got a reasonable quote, just 50L for both of us. Go figure that on our last day in the country I meet the Only Nice Cab Driver in Honduras (or ONCDiH as I will know affectionately call him). ONCDiH didn’t know where the Tica bus station was so I gave him what I thought were the cross streets and the district name. Of course I realized that I didn’t know whether the cross streets were avenidas or calles (avenues or streets) so I guessed.

Murphy’s law says that the less time you have the worse traffic will be. We proved it this morning. It was rush hour and like any capital city that meant gridlock. Oops I guess we should have left more than 20 minutes to get across town. Luckily, the ONCDiH knew all the side streets and alley ways to get out us out of the biggest jam. However, my general directions were wrong. The Tica Bus station was not where I thought it was. Being the ONCDiH, our driver began a street by street search of the district asking for directions every so often until someone knew where it was. And we got there at exactly 9am. There was no bus waiting. Oh no. But there were a lot of people. Yay! We hadn’t missed it. We paid the ONCDiH and he didn’t even ask for more. It almost brought a tear to my eye.

I went to buy the tickets in the slowest moving “line up” (there was one person in front of me) in Honduras. But the bus still hadn’t arrived so I zenned until I got to the front 15 minutes later.
“Dos boletos a Esteli por favor,” I asked the woman.
“No va a Esteli.” Uh-oh. The dreaded you can’t get there from here line. “Va a Leon o Managua,”
She showed me the map from the website which clearly marked Esteli as a destination and then crossed it out explaining that the bus now went via a different border crossing. Someone should update the website and there maps.
“A donde quiere ir?” she pushed now suddenly wanting to hurry up the line even though I was the only person in it.
And with that I chose Leon. At least we’d be over the border. We could figure out where to go or what to see once we were there. I crossed my fingers and hoped our spontaneous change of plans was a good change of plans.

I got our tickets and headed back to Adrian to tell him the news. He didn’t seem bothered and we pulled out the guide book to check out hostels and relative prices. Somehow I think that rooms are no longer $5/night.

The bus finally arrived at 9:30 but it was obviously in some distress. The employees tinkered with it for 15 minutes before giving up and piling us all on. We soon discovered what the problem was, no air conditioning. Not a big deal when you’re on a chicken bus where the windows open. But on the hermetically sealed luxury coach this was a big problem. With only the two small emergency window exits on the ceiling open, there was no breeze and by the time we hit the highway at 10am (only an hour late) the bus already smelt incredibly gamey.

Unlike the other ejecutivo class buses – there were also no free beverages or snacks. But the driver did stop to pick up a woman at a truck stop who boarded the bus with a cooler full of ice cold drinks. She was kind enough to stay with us for the three hours to the border and not double her prices while we baked in the oven on wheels. At the border, we met another Tica Bus with working air conditioning and most of the travelers going all the way to Managua were moved off the bus and on to it. The rest of us were forced to suffer. Although we were allowed to get off and stand in the cool 34 degree shade for 30 minutes while the bus driver took our passports, paperwork and 190L each for the border fees.

We were immediately swarmed by money changers. We changed our money after Adrian did some quick negotiating. The Nicaraguan Cordoba to Honduran Lempira rate is about 1.17 to 1 and the money changers initially offered us .85 to 1. Adrian got them up to .95 to 1 which was a pleasant surprise. We were then approached by two young American girls who didn’t realize that they would need to pay a fee at the border. They begged us to borrow some cash until we got to an ATM in Leon. We made sure we had enough just in case they couldn’t get money out and then lent them what they needed. Travel karma. Since we were still suffering from the dreaded travelers tummy we needed the karma. Especially at the Swine Flu checkpoint.

Not only did we still have icky stomachs (one of the symptoms), I sill had a horrible sounding phlegmy cough. But the health check is simple: all they ask is that you tick boxes of various generic symptoms (si or no). So we did what any person desperate to get over the border would do: we lied. Luckily the nurse was distracted by the flushed and sweaty appearance of all the people from our bus, causing her to repeatedly ask “do you a fever?” to each of us. But she waved us all through which meant back in the oven now a lovely 38 degrees according to my handy dandy keychain thermometer.

In two and a half hours we arrived at Leon, or rather a gas station outside the city. Only Adrian and I got off. Oh and the two American girls too who ran into to use the ATM. They paid us back said thanks and then they and the bus were gone. A lone taxi driver was sitting there waiting for us – in his cab, not in our face. Already Nicaragua felt completely different. When we asked him how much into town he said 80C but when Adrian said What?! he backed down to 50C. Yes, we are in a completely different country.

The only problem was we didn’t know where we were going. I knew that there were some good hostels in Leon but since coming here has been a spontaneous decision I didn’t know what any of them were called. I flipped open the Lonely Planet and grabbed the name of the first hostel listed, Via Via. Before I could say it, the driver asked “Via Via?” I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. But at least we could check it out and maybe even get online to find some other options.

Via Via was part of a chain of hostels and by chain I mean it has four locations Mali, Copan, Amsterdam and Leon. What a weird combination. It was also a restaurant/bar and had no wifi. So I was foiled in my attempt to look up stuff. So I popped into the internet place across the street and looked up the name of the hostel I had bookmarked in my pre-trip search. It still looked good but at $32/night it was a lot more than $5. We went to check it out, carrying our packs in the afternoon sun. Unfortunately they only had dorm rooms available. So back to Via Via it was. Or rather across the street from Via Via at a place called Big Foot. It had a much tinier and quieter bar. They only had a triple room available with shared bath for $21. It was not as nice as the other place but they did have a sign that announced 25C mojitos or about $1.50. Sold. We could always change tomorrow. Right now we just needed to shower and change our clothes. And have a mojito.

Shake, rattle and roll at the symphony.

Honduras’ capital city isn’t on most traveller’s itinerary. Like every capital city it’s supposedly dirty, dangerous and not worth the trip. Coming in late last night the city had certainly seemed that way but we’ve learned that many cities can look completely different in the daylight when there are people around and you can actually see where you are and where you’re going (or not, Tela I’m looking at you).

Despite the rock hard bed we both slept like logs, and woke up bright and early refreshed but starving. Luckily there was a small café across the street in Hotel Granada 3 and kitty corner to Hotel Granada 1. Originality in hotel naming was obviously not a priority in Tegu. But fresh squeezed orange juice was – we got big gulp sized glasses with our breakfast which were absosmurfly delicious.

Now it was time to go exploring. It was still early but the streets were full of people and traffic all headed to school or work. And we realized just how close to everything the hotel was. We started at the central park, whereelse, which was full of people already just hanging around and talking. It had a cathedral whose facade was full of birds. And they too were just hanging around and chatting. I guess that’s what everyone does in the central park. Everyone but us – we were off to find the Museum of Art.

We found it easily – it’s a giant beautiful yellow building that used to be a colonial university. But it was 10 minutes before 9 and we had to wait until it was opened. When the guard finally opened the doors, he seemed surprised to find someone waiting to get in. I guess, they don’t usually have a line-up outside when they open. And I wonder if they even have many visitors since the ticket seller hadn’t even arrived yet. We waited inside for 15 minutes to buy our tickets so we could start walking around.

The gallery was actually worth the wait. It was very much a museum rather than art gallery as it traced the history of Honduran Art from the pre-columbian era all the way up to weird abstract modern stuff. Each room covered a different influence, the church, the pottery, the war. And as we traveled from room to room, the same security guard that let us in had to turn on the lights for us. I thought he’d run ahead of us and turn the rest of them on, but no he waited and walked with us. I guess he was bored or maybe no tourists had been in the museum in a long time.

We certainly didn’t see any more gringos when we were walking around. Even our hotel was filled with female delegates from some sort of conference. Perhaps here for the big woman’s rights protest (well, big is relative) that we discovered in front of the legislature next door to the museum. A woman approached us and asked us to sign a petition demanding access to birth control and equal rights on the job. She only had about three signatures so we added our names to help her cause.

Our next stop was supposed to be the History Museum housed in the former presidential palace, well according to our outdated Lonely Planet. Except it wasn’t there any more. It was now home to the National Archives and Library. However, we were given a private tour of the building (for free) which was in the midst of being restored – hence why they moved the museum out to another one further from town. The guide took us to the old ballroom where Adrian happily posed with the flag, and then up to the rooftop terrace for great views of the city (almost as good as the one from the top of our hotel - photo above). Like our private tour in Xela we were treated like visiting dignitaries complete with a request to sign an official guest book.

The guide had told us where to find the new history museum but it was a bit out of the way so we decided to pop in at a few other places first. The first was the national theatre. It was a beautiful building and we were allowed to walk around it (for free, Tegu, I like your prices). Upstairs there was a photo exhibit in honour of UNESCO’s year of cultural diversity. As we walked around we could hear musicians warming up in the theatre. I asked the lady who had let us in if there was a performance tonight. Yup, the Honduran Symphony was playing one of their few shows tonight and there were tickets still available. Seemed like fun, so we bought a pair ($3 each) and told her we’d see her tonight. I looked at our ticket numbers – they were number 1 and 2. Doesn’t look like the symphony is popular in Honduras.

On our way to the History Musuem, we found a newly opened Museum of National Identity. A heavy name for a very inviting building. It had been beautifully restored but cameras were not allowed. There was a brand spanking new Virtual Tour of Copan that seemed out of place in the building so of course we checked it out. It was just a computer generated movie that took you through the ruins, including the tunnels. Considering we refused to pay to see them when we were it was cool to get a peak at what we had missed. Cool in a completely cheesey sort of way. Plus it was nice to sit down after walking for a few hours. The rest of the museum was dedicated to the history of the country with a large in depth exhibit. It was all in Spanish but really well done. And it was so dense that after two hours Adrian and I considered our need for a History Museum fulfilled. In fact we felt like we’d seen everything we needed to see in Tegucigalpa. The downtown was compact and we ticked off all the sights in our 5 hours of wandering around.

We headed back to the hotel so I could figure out how to get to Nicaragua. Adrian left me alone on the hotel computer and went off in search of some English language book and magazine store across town. In the hour he was gone, I only managed to get google to upload fully. The internet had been super slow in Honduras but this was beyond super slow. That one website helped me figure out why. While we slept like logs last night, an earthquake had struck the Bay Islands, a big earthquake. Fortunately, it had caused minimal damage and deaths but it had wiped out the bridge on the highway between La Ceiba and San Pedro. If we hadn’t left Utila yesterday we would have been stuck there for a while. Phew.

But that didn’t answer my “how do we get to Nicaragua” question. So when Adrian returned unscathed from his solitary journey in dangerous (hah) Tegu we got ready and headed out for our night at the symphony. Inspired by Melissa’s menu choices the day before, we ducked into Wendy’s for dinner. Baked potatoes and salads. Our stomachs were still not right but maybe eating food that wasn’t deep fried would help. Then we went to the internet place next door. The internet was slow but manageable there. So I found the bus schedules I was looking for as well as the name and prices of hostels in Estelli, the Nicaraguan town we planned to head to tomorrow.

There was more news posted about the earthquake which came in handy when I had to reply to the many emails from friends and family wondering if we were okay. Armed with more facts I was able to put their minds at ease and also admit that we’d felt nothing over in Tegucigalpa, although I do remember dreaming about an earthquake and feeling disappointed that a subway felt stronger. Or maybe I just falsely implanted that memory so we wouldn’t sound so lame. Oh well, I took it as another sign to leave Honduras. We’d had some good times and even liked Tegu but after Guatemala, Honduras wasn’t as friendly or inviting – especially the taxi drivers.

Just as we were about to leave the internet place, it began to pour rain. So we waited with the rest of the pedestrians under an awning until it calmed to a dull drizzle before walking to the theatre. There were only a few people there when we arrived. We were a few minutes early and the rain had just stopped so I figured people were running late. Nope. When the conductor came out there were only about 10 people in the audience of the big old theatre and I’m sure all of them were family members of the musicians.

The orchestra was small but quite good and the conductor spent a few minutes before each piece explaining the meaning and history of each piece – in Spanish so I have no idea about the details. And it was over by 8:30 which meant we didn’t have to walk through dark and empty streets back to the hotel. It also left us plenty of time to pack and rest up to catch our 9am bus over the border. Bye, Bye, Honduras. Hello, Nicaragua.

Things aren’t always what they seem.

Honduran taxi drivers are the worst.

When we told told Tony we were checking out and heading back to mainland, he warned us that the ferry had broken down and might not be running tomorrow morning. We had stopped by the dock on our way back from dinner but there was no notice posted so we decided to take our chances with the 6am ferry, even though that meant getting up at 4:30 in the morning. I set the alarm when it was still pitch black it went off.

“Turn that bloody thing off,” the always chipper Adrian announced.
“It’s time to get up.” I replied just as sweetly.
“No it’s not. It’s 2:30.”

As soon as he said it, I knew it was true. It wasn’t the alarm’s fault. It had gone off at what it thought was 4:30. But the phone was still on Toronto time, a whole two hours later than Honduran time. Oops. I quickly changed the clock and reset the alarm hoping Adrian wouldn’t remember my mistake in two hours. It seemed that I’d barely closed my eyes when the alarm went off again. Now it was my turn to grumble. We finished packing and walked down to the ferry dock. A crowd was already waiting as we bought our ticket which were oddly cheaper than the ones we bought to come over. But that wasn’t the only thing smaller – the double decker ferry we had taken over had been replaced by a smaller one. I guess the other one was still being repaired, although this new one looked like they’d dusted it off from the storage shed. Well, it looked faster than the other ferry and that was good because we were ready to leave Utila.

We piled on the boat and amongst the crowd there were a few familiar faces from around the island. A Dutch couple who were two doors down at Cross Creek. And Melissa from Rubi’s. She came and sat beside me.

“I’m glad to see you guys,” she immediately started, “I wanted to tell you the real reason I took off.”

Her smile turned into tears as she told me about Tony and his lecherous ways. It seemed the nice old man with the nice hotel on the nice stretch of beach expected something in return for being so nice. When he entered into her room without knocking, she decided to leave. It upset her so much that for the first time in her three months of traveling she just wanted to get on a plane and go home. I told her she could travel with us into Nicaragua. But she was first heading back to Antigua to stay with the family she’d met until she felt comfortable to travel again. If she couldn’t fly home, she wanted to be in a familiar place where she felt safe.

My heart went out to her. Tony seemed like a really nice guy to us but apparently things aren’t always what they seem. And that’s when I was reminded of the downside of traveling by yourself. Sure it’s easier to meet people, but it’s also easier to meet people you don’t want to. For the hour+ long ferry ride we continued to chat and I tried to get her spirits and trust in people up again. I couldn’t let one lecherous old man spoil her trip.

So when we got to La Ceiba, we all got in a cab and headed to the ejecutivo bus station together. Thanks to her one month in Antigua, Melissa spoke awesome Spanish and the price was a reasonable 50L each. Even though Melissa was headed to Guatemala City and we were heading to Tegucigalpa, we would all be going to San Pedro Sula first on the 10am bus. The bus was cheaper than I thought but still twice as expensive as the chicken bus but with our wonky stomachs (yup day 4 of the stomach bug) and my lingering cold the splurge on air conditioning and an onboard toilet was a good one.

Now it was time to get some breakfast. The bus station appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, but when I asked the security guard about getting a bight to eat, he said there was a mall just around the corner where we could find something. A mall? I wondered if I had mistranslated what he said. But sure enough at the next intersection on the highway there was a western style mall complete with a Wendy’s. Adrian was running towards the entrance before it had even registered with Melissa and I. Sometimes the food you wouldn’t eat at home can be a taste of heaven.

The great thing (depending on how you look at it) about Central American fast food chains is that you can always get their full menu. And many people do. So when Melissa ordered a baked potato, chicken caesar salad and frostie at 8:30 in the morning, it was ready before Adrian and I’s breakfast sandwich combos. And looking around at the rest of the patrons, it seemed that our breakfast was the anomaly not hers. Adrian decided that he’d better get a frostie and apple pie just to make sure he didn’t stick out completely.

The bus to San Pedro was right on time and it was heaven. We were given cold beverages and cookies when we boarded and treated to an onboard film. However, almost everyone on the bus, including us slept for most of the way waking up when we pulled into the ginormous bus terminal at San Pedro. Hedman Alas had their own fancy terminal complete with executive waiting rooms where the Poseidon Adventure was playing on a big screen tv. It helped pass the two hours until our bus left for Tegucigalpa. Melissa’s bus to Guatemala City wasn’t leaving until 3:30 so we exchanged contact info and wished each other a happy journey. I really do hope that she feels better and has a great last month of her trip.

Our second bus was even more comfortable than our first complete with more snacks drinks and movies. Good thing too because it was a long ride to Tegucigalpa (Tay-goose-see-gulp-a, just in case you were wondering). We got in almost 6 hours later, to a dark city. But unlike San Pedro, there was no terminal. Instead the bus pulled into a gated parking lot and let us out, straight into the aggressive throng of waiting taxi drivers. Honduran taxi drivers are by far the most aggressive we’ve encountered so far in Central America and the biggest schemers. I had hoped that Tegu (that’s what the cool kids call it, or at least lazy bloggers named liz) drivers would be better. However, they were all over us and in our face until I angrily shooed them away like bees. They seemed to find this rather amusing but they did give us back our personal space while we got our bearings.

We got into a taxi who I could have sworn said 50L for both, especially since I repeated it twice, mostly out of surprise that the price was for both. I gave him the name of the most highly recommended and cheapest hotel in downtown Tegu – Hotel Granada 2. He tried to convince us to go to a better place but I refused claiming that we had a reservation here. When we got to the hotel then the guy pulled the whole “not 50, I said 150” scam – perhaps because he wasn’t going to get hotel commission. Grr, we’d been on the road for 14 hours and I was not pleased but I also had learned I was never going to win an argument with a Honduran taxi driver.

Despite all the glowing reviews from other budget travelers, the room was also not what it seemed. Sure we had a clean private bath but the bed was rock hard (I mean rock hard – coins bounced when dropped on the mattress). And it was on the fourth floor with no elevator. But we didn’t care. Although we hadn’t eaten since 8am we just went to sleep. Perhaps it will all look better in the morning.

Under the weather.

Before we left Toronto, there were two things we were afraid of. One: getting robbed. And two: getting sick. You can't prevent either. But you can do your best. Back in the winter, we’d made the trip to the travel doctor and loaded up on malarial medications and other vaccines. But you can’t take anything for the dreaded traveller’s diarrhea. Alas, last night Adrian and I both felt some rumblings in our tummies. And this morning we were finally inducted in the traveller’s diarrhea club. Not that we wanted membership. And to complicate matters, I now had a cold too, most likely brought on by the stress of trying to get my diving certification.

While Adrian sat around trying to establish where we could have gotten this stomach bug – Was it the bbq street meat? The seafood at the fancier restaurant? All the ice cubes in all our cold drinks? Was the cutlery not clean? Is it contagious? – I lay in bed feeling weak and congested in the 34 degree heat (humidex of 41), hoping it wasn’t Swine Flu. No, not really. But sometimes it’s fun to be melodramatic. Just not when someone else is doing it.

And Adrian’s constant analysis of every thing we’d eaten and drank in the last week was driving me nuts so I told him to go jump in the water. I meant that literally since Rubi’s had a swimming dock right on the clear water. Yes, Rubi’s was a vast improvement over our accommodations at Cross Creek. There was really no better place to be sick. Clean, comfy, quiet and sand fly free.

An American girl arrived from Guatemala without any money and a bank card that stopped working. To make matters worse it was Memorial Day long weekend in the states so she couldn’t even phone to sort it out. She was super stressed and starving but Tony, the owner told her not to worry. He lent her some money and gave her some food and told her she could pay him back when she was able to get money. See, told you it was a great place.

Melissa was a cool chick and we chatted for a bit comparing travel stories. She’d been in Guatemala for the last month and a half mostly in Antigua where she’d gotten sucked into the vibe there. She’d been lucky to find a room with a family so she’d had a really interesting time in the town. One of the benefits of traveling alone – 0ut of necessity you have to meet people, unlike Adrian and I who always had each other. We’d met people but not in the way that many single travelers like Melissa had.

Melissa set out to explore the island leaving me with the resident cat who was desperate to get at the leftover salmon Adrian had in the fridge reminding me to finally throw it out. Adrian returned from his swim and came back with a bag full of crackers, bananas, gaterade, fried rice and Pepto Bismo to quell our stomachs. Not my favourite meal so far but it helped a bit and the next day our stomachs were somewhat better. My cold was out of my head although my lungs were starting to ache as I coughed. Luckily I have a year’s supply of inhalers in my bag and I began sucking on one to control the hacking.

I stayed in again while Adrian went out to explore the island. He went to the beach near the old airport strip while I spent the day struggling to upload the photos. In the last 24 hours I’d only gotten 80 photos to upload. Crazy. So I gave up and began to work on filling in the gaps in my diary. It had been over a month since I’d blogged new stuff. I knew it was a long time. Yet, it all seemed like it happened yesterday. Good thing because there were a lot of days that needed to be filled in. I couldn’t be bothered to put up a new post with the crappy internet but at least I’d be ready when we finally found good wifi. Whenever and wherever that would be.

Adrian came back from the beach with a red face (sun burn) and wet underwear (he’d forgotten his swimming trucks). And we joined Melissa in the water off the dock. When we came out, Tony was kicking two guys out of the hotel for punching a hole in the wall of their room (they had been wrestling while drunk). He didn’t want guests like that he said. Melissa checked out after that too and it all felt a little weird. She’d told Adrian she was going to start at a dive school. But it felt like there was something going on. I felt bad for Tony because we were leaving tomorrow too, provided that I didn’t feel worse in the morning.

Although I still wasn’t feeling great and our stomachs were still not cooperating we headed out for dinner. It was our last day in Utila and we needed to end with a better memory than crappy diving instructors, weird hotel guests and an assortment of illnesses. The food at Babalu wasn’t going to be that good memory. But the sunset from the bar was.

From underdog to wonder dog

it's a boring photo but i don't have a waterproof camera

D-Day as in diving day was here. And I was going to conquer this diving thing even if kil- whoops, maybe not the best cliché to use. Let’s just say I was determined. Although when I saw the grey skies that morning, a small part of my brain did hope maybe it would stormy and I wouldn’t be able to go out. I may have been determined but I was still scared.

Adrian walked with me to UDC and hung around as I met Anna and we started getting ready for my lesson, until I finally told him it was okay to leave me. The first thing Anna did was ask me to explain what had happened in my own words and what I thought I needed to do. I told her and then she explained step by step how she was going to help me get the mask monkey off my back. And she knew how because she’d had to overcome her own anxiety. Wow, I didn’t realize how common it was and how it was possible to overcome it. I wasn’t a freak after all. (Okay maybe I am a freak but not when it comes to scuba diving at least.)

We got my equipment together and when she heard how much weight I’d been told to use. She immediately cut it down by 30%. “There’s no way you need that much.” Well that will make it much easier to get back in the boat.

Then it was in the water. But unlike Cross Creek, UDC had an area just off shore to practice all the confined dive skills – much less intimidated than trying to do stuff in open water. We started off in the shallows and Anna began just by watching me as I did some of the simpler tasks. She immediately picked up on a couple of things that I could correct. I was still breathing too rapidly and shallow and I didn’t like opening my eyes in salt. We worked on both these little things and then it was time to just take the mask off and put it back on. I was so relaxed and confident that despite getting water up my nose again, I didn’t panic. Victory! I was almost there. No I just needed to add the swim bit to it.

For that we went out a bit deeper. We dove around for a bit and Anna complimented me on my buoyancy and control.

“It’s the not the diving I have a problem with – it’s these silly skills.” I told her.

“Well then, let’s get them over with” she replied.

Rather than anxiety I felt the nervous energy of excitement. I took my time mentally psyching myself up. I did the whole “visualization” thing too. I’m not much of a believer in stuff like that but I thought what could it hurt. Then I slipped the mask off and swam. When Anna tapped me on the shoulder, I began to put my mask on. Not easy with long hair. (diving tip: you have long hair, buy yourself a strap guard thing and avoid the pain and discomfort of getting your mask caught in your hair). I got some water in my nose but just a bit. I concentrated on getting the mask on and clear of water. I knew I could cough as soon as I was done that. I opened my eyes slowly. There was still some water in my mask. I cleared it again and Anna gave me a thumbs up. Ecstatic, I high fived her and we did a little booty shake happy dance (much more graceful now that was wearing a lighter weight belt).

“Thank you so much Anna. I couldn’t have done that without you.” I told her when we were back on the surface.
“Nope you did it. You totally rocked it. Congratulations.” She said high fiving me once again.

During our lunch break, I ran back to tell Adrian I’d succeeded. He was super happy for me. And although my stomach was doing congratulatory summersaults I had something quickly to eat before heading back to UDC. I still had another open water dive to do with another mask off skill. But with my albatross gone, I knew I was free and clear.

“We’re going to one of my favourite site’s here in Utila. Black Hills. You are like so totally going to love it.” Anna told me. The totally was the only give away that she was a surfer first and diver second. She had given up marine biology to dive so she could support her surfing addiction and Utila was close enough to Costa Rica’s surf sites. She must be a phenomenal surfer because she’s a pretty awesome diving instructor. Black Hill is an amazing mountain of coral way off shore. Getting to it involved a tricky entry thanks to the strong current but once under water the current disappeared. I did some compass skills and my final mask off exercise and I then I was done. The rest of the time we just enjoyed the scenery. And Anna was right: I like so totally loved it, dude.

After the dive, the boat took us on a search around the island for whale sharks. Today was not our day as the only thing we spotted was a tree trunk that looked creepily like a lone diver floating in the water until we got up close. But we did get a complete tour of Utila and the cays, including a long stretch of large beach homes on the west end of the island, most of which were for sale. It was tempting but somehow I think they were out of our price range.

Anna and I chatted more about traveling. She and Rob are also planning a trip to Africa. In September they’re going to teach diving in Mozambique where there’s also some grat surfing. We’ll have to hook up. I also chatted to a guy from Mexico who was only in Utila for 3 days so he was diving four times a day. He was very nice and friendly although he did try to convince me that I should try the grasshoppers next time I’m in town – but just the small ones because the big ones taste bad. Good thing I’m not heading back to Mexico City any time soon.

After an hour of circumnavigating the island we pulled up at UDC, where a boat from Cross Creek was also docked (the two schools help each other out with equipment and stuff). On the boat were Itamar as well as Avishai and Carmel. It was like running into your new ex while out with your new partner (who you may or may not have been seeing while you were dating the ex, not that I know, I’m just basing that on tv shows and movies). Awkward, until I decided not to let it be awkward. I told them that I had just passed. And Avi and Carmel let out a huge cheer and clapped. When I looked over at Ita, he was cheering too.

Adrian was waiting for me at the dive bar (erm the bar at the dive school) where he was watching the Olympia and Real Espana rematch with the Honduran staff members. The locals were cheering for the underdogs, Olympia from San Pedro who were playing their arch rivals the arrogant Real Espana. Olympia won. Today all us underdogs ended up on top.
May 24 S U C C E S S that’s the way you spell success.
D-Day as in diving day was here. And I was going to conquer this diving thing even if kil- okay maybe not the best cliché to use. Let’s just say I was determined. Although when I saw the grey skies that morning, a small part of my brain did hope maybe it would stormy and I wouldn’t be able to go out. I may have been determined but I was still scared.

Adrian walked with me to UDC and hung around as I met Anna and we started getting ready for my lesson, until I finally told him it was okay to leave me. The first thing Anna did was ask me to explain what had happened in my own words and what I thought I needed to do. I told her and then she explained step by step how she was going to help me get the mask monkey off my back. And she knew how because she’d had to overcome her own anxiety. Wow, I didn’t realize how common it was and how it was possible to overcome it. I wasn’t a freak after all. (Okay maybe I am a freak but not when it comes to scuba diving at least.)

We got my equipment together and when she heard how much weight I’d been told to use. She immediately cut it down by 30%. “There’s no way you need that much.” Well that will make it much easier to get back in the boat.

Then it was in the water. But unlike Cross Creek, UDC had an area just off shore to practice all the confined dive skills – much less intimidated than trying to do stuff in open water. We started off in the shallows and Anna began just by watching me as I did some of the simpler tasks. She immediately picked up on a couple of things that I could correct. I was still breathing too rapidly and shallow and I didn’t like opening my eyes in salt. We worked on both these little things and then it was time to just take the mask off and put it back on. I was so relaxed and confident that despite getting water up my nose again, I didn’t panic. Victory! I was almost there. No I just needed to add the swim bit to it.

For that we went out a bit deeper. We dove around for a bit and Anna complimented me on my buoyancy and control.

“It’s the not the diving I have a problem with – it’s these silly skills.” I told her.

“Well then, let’s get them over with” she replied.

Rather than anxiety I felt the nervous energy of excitement. I took my time mentally psyching myself up. I did the whole “visualization” thing too. I’m not much of a believer in stuff like that but I thought what could it hurt. Then I slipped the mask off and swam. When Anna tapped me on the shoulder, I began to put my mask on. Not easy with long hair. (diving tip: you have long hair, buy yourself a strap guard thing and avoid the pain and discomfort of getting your mask caught in your hair). I got some water in my nose but just a bit. I concentrated on getting the mask on and clear of water. I knew I could cough as soon as I was done that. I opened my eyes slowly. There was still some water in my mask. I cleared it again and Anna gave me a thumbs up. Ecstatic, I high fived her and we did a little booty shake happy dance (much more graceful now that was wearing a lighter weight belt).

“Thank you so much Anna. I couldn’t have done that without you.” I told her when we were back on the surface.
“Nope you did it. You totally rocked it. Congratulations.” She said high fiving me once again.

During our lunch break, I ran back to tell Adrian I’d succeeded. He was super happy for me. And although my stomach was doing congratulatory summersaults I had something quickly to eat before heading back to UDC. I still had another open water dive to do with another mask off skill. But with my albatross gone, I knew I was free and clear.

“We’re going to one of my favourite site’s here in Utila. Black Hills. You are like so totally going to love it.” Anna told me. The totally was the only give away that she was a surfer first and diver second. She had given up marine biology to dive so she could support her surfing addiction and Utila was close enough to Costa Rica’s surf sites. She must be a phenomenal surfer because she’s a pretty awesome diving instructor. Black Hill is an amazing mountain of coral way off shore. Getting to it involved a tricky entry thanks to the strong current but once under water the current disappeared. I did some compass skills and my final mask off exercise and I then I was done. The rest of the time we just enjoyed the scenery. And Anna was right: I like so totally loved it, dude.

After the dive, the boat took us on a search around the island for whale sharks. Today was not our day as the only thing we spotted was a tree trunk that looked creepily like a lone diver floating in the water until we got up close. But we did get a complete tour of Utila and the cays, including a long stretch of large beach homes on the west end of the island, most of which were for sale. It was tempting but somehow I think they were out of our price range.

Anna and I chatted more about traveling. She and Rob are also planning a trip to Africa. In September they’re going to teach diving in Mozambique where there’s also some grat surfing. We’ll have to hook up. I also chatted to a guy from Mexico who was only in Utila for 3 days so he was diving four times a day. He was very nice and friendly although he did try to convince me that I should try the grasshoppers next time I’m in town – but just the small ones because the big ones taste bad. Good thing I’m not heading back to Mexico City any time soon.

After an hour of circumnavigating the island we pulled up at UDC, where a boat from Cross Creek was also docked (the two schools help each other out with equipment and stuff). On the boat were Itamar as well as Avishai and Carmel. It was like running into your new ex while out with your new partner (who you may or may not have been seeing while you were dating the ex, not that I know, I’m just basing that on tv shows and movies). Awkward, until I decided not to let it be awkward. I told them that I had just passed. And Avi and Carmel let out a huge cheer and clapped. When I looked over at Ita, he was cheering too.

Adrian was waiting for me at the dive bar (erm the bar at the dive school) where he was watching the Olympia and Real Espana rematch with the Honduran staff members. The locals were cheering for the underdogs, Olympia from San Pedro who were playing their arch rivals the arrogant Real Espana. Olympia won. Today all us underdogs ended up on top.

Diving support group.

On Utila you either dived or you dived. All conversations revolved around what spots you’d been too or how many dives or what course were you doing – especially since we were staying at a dive school. That was fine when we were part of that clique but now that I wasn’t, I wanted to get as far away from it as possible. But I still wanted to overcome my newfound fear.

Feeling motivated and looking for a clean slate, I took Cindi and Donna’s advice to not give up and began looking at dive schools in other parts of the Caribbean – Panama, Nicaragua and even Colombia. They all looked like possibilities. But I also realized that I was here in the student diving mecca with over 20 other schools to choose from. Why did I need to wait? The sooner I conquered this fear the better.

So after breakfast, I headed down to the Utila Dive Centre with Adrian there for moral support. I met Rob, a kinda loud crazy English guy with an equally loud and crazy laugh. I told him that I’d had a panic attack during my mask off skill but had completed all my other skills and was determined to finish off the course. He was immediately up for the challenge and said that he’d make sure I got my certification. Yay! Enthusiasm just what I needed since I wasn’t sure just how determined my heart actually was.

When I asked him about a new place to stay (fresh school, fresh lodging and a fresh attitude), he walked us over to Rubi’s. A small hotel on the sea far away from the bugs of Cross Creek. The walk gave us a chance to get to chat and get to know each other which put me at ease. And Rubi’s was just as great. A bright spacious room, our own bathroom and a great view (photo above). We checked in and rushed back to Cross Creek to check out and get all our stuff. Immediately I felt like a new person.

Back at Rubi’s Rob stopped by to let me know that he’d talked to the head guy at the school and they had decided to give me Anna as an instructor.

“Don’t worry. She’s my girlfriend and she’s a much better instructor than me. And she’s a mask expert. She’s the best.”

He’d recommended a great little place to stay (in fact his sister was staying in the next room) so I trusted his glowing review of Anna even though he may have been a bit biased. And he told me that Anna and I were going to start an hour earlier so I could spend some extra time in the shallow water just off their dock. Cool. I felt so much better that I actually got jealous when Adrian went out that afternoon to do his two free fun dives. If only I had transferred to UDC earlier. I could have been out there with him.

Correction, I hate my diving instructor.

Today was our last day of and my last chance to get my certification. I woke up and the anxiety was still there. The one looming skill I had to complete still scared the bejesus out of me. And unfortunately my biggest ally Avishai, was not coming out with us – he was incredibly hungover. But good thing Carmel was still coming out. I needed the moral support.

Back out on the water. I asked to start off with just getting used to putting my face in the water again. Ita agreed but after 5 minutes told me it was time to go down. Once again the anxiety and panic hit – the dread of having to do the skill was building. Ita made Adrian go first. But as I was sitting on the bottom, I started getting the urge to go back up. But I managed to calm myself down. Plus I knew I could do the last remaining skills and thought maybe doing them would build up my confidence. But when it came time to do the controlled emergency ascent (that’s where you pretend to run out of air and slowly go without air and without inflating your bcd), I had a tiny bit of trouble at the top (couldn’t remember how to manually inflate my bcd at first) which did nothing for building the confidence. It was just a little thing but it was enough.

It didn’t matter that one part of my brain was telling me I was overreacting and being stupid. The other part of my brain telling me to get out of the water was louder and more aggressive. As we continued on the fun part of the dive, I developed tunnel vision and didn’t register any fish or coral. All I could think about was the next dive and that stupid mask off swim. I didn’t trust my instructor and that’s what I needed most at the moment. So I decided that was it.

On the surface, I told Adrian I was done and wouldn’t be going back down. He sweetly said that if I wasn’t going to do it, he didn’t want to finish either. But I told him not to be stupid. We’d spent the money and he was thisclose to getting certified so he should get down there and finish up (photo above). When I told Ita he just sort of shrugged and suggested I do some snorkeling while they were down. Now I don’t think he meant to be a jackass. I just think he couldn’t be bothered or maybe he just wasn’t good with stress. Whatever the reason it made me feel like the freak.

When Adrian came back up, he had completed all his skills and was now a certified diver. And back on land we went into the office to finish his paperwork. Kim was there and when she heard I hadn’t finished, she offered to take me down. But I declined. The whole school now felt tainted and just wanted to get away from it.

I hopped online and proclaimed my diving failure on facebook. Immediately, I heard from lots of people about their own diving panic attacks, including from divemaster Cindi, and fellow rtw’er Donna. Both helped to talk me off the ledge. And (like many of you folks) told me that I should probably get a new instructor. That maybe true but at that moment I just wanted to get far away from diving.

(I just wanted to give another special shout out and thank you to Cindi and Donna. You two were awesome. We’ve never met but your encouragement and kind words were just what I needed at that time. You’re true friends.)

I hate diving.

“You will have great diving experiences. But you will also have bad ones,” the voice on one of the PADI videos had said. After yesterday’s experience I didn’t understand how that was possible. But I was about to find out.

We started the day with Itamar testing us on the final chapters. And when that was done, we were given our final test to complete when we got back from our dive. After our experience with Nico, Adrian and I were both struck by the difference in teaching style. Ita was cold and any attempt at encouragement actually came across as patronizing. But we were almost done so we tried to shake it off when we broke for lunch.

When it came time to get our gear together, I remembered more than I thought I would and didn’t feel as lost on the boat. We jumped into the water and began our descent with Carmel and Avishair helping Itamar off once again. But that’s where the similarities to the previous day ended.

Immediately we were instructed to perform our next task – swimming with the mask off. Ita showed us once and then told us to copy him. This time I had to go first. I got the mask off and swam, concentrating on trying to keep the bubbles from going up my nose. Ita tapped me on the shoulder to let me know I could stop and put my mask back on. No problem. Until I moved my head in the wrong direction. Suddenly I got a nose full of water that started going down my throat. Panic began to set in. I could still breathe so I spend a few minutes trying to concentrate on how to get the water out. With my mask on I would have just coughed but my mask was stuck in my hair and I couldn’t get it on. I tried to breathe out through my nose. But that seemed to make it worse. The water was now burning my nose and throat and I was definitely panicing. My throat seemed to be closing and I didn’t know what to do. I could feel my heart beating super fast and my breathing getting shallower. All I knew was that we were only in 5 metres of water and I could definitely make it to the surface safely to get the water out.

I kept motioned that something was wrong and that I wanted to go up. But when I started to move to go up Ita pushed me back down. And that’s when I essentially lost it. I shook him off and swam slowly to the top. On the surface I began coughing to get the water out. Then the stress and fear all came to head and I burst out into tears. Avishai had surfaced with me and tried to calm me down.

“What happened? You were almost done,” he asked. “Let’s go back down and finish.”

I tried to explain that I was too spooked by the incident to go back down. Just looking at the water gave me a queasy feeling I hadn’t felt since I was four and my mean cousins threw me into the swimming pool. Luckily Avishai understood and was happy to chill with me until I felt ready to go back down. I was just starting to feel more relaxed when Ita surfaced.

“What’s the problem? Why aren’t you back down,” he barked.

Notice he didn’t ask what had happened to me. I told him I didn’t feel confident enough to go back down. Without saying anything or offering any advise, he went back down. I didn’t know how I was going to prevent the same thing from happening again. And at that point I wasn’t even able to figure out how to express what the problem was – not that he asked.

Thank god for Avishai, probably 22 years old but far more mature than Ita. He helped me get back under water, step by step. We started by putting my face in the water, then I breathed through the regulator, next we swam on the surface and, when I felt ready, we went back down.

At the bottom, Adrian was in the midst of his belt test (taking the weight belt off and putting it back on) and he was struggling. As we watched him do everything but what he was supposed to do to get it back on, I wondered why Ita didn’t stop him, show him how to do it the right way and have him repeat it. Same thing when it came time to take off his bcd (the inflatable vest that also holds the tank). Adrian struggled and struggled and struggled, undoing every strap before sort of getting it back on. It took him so long, that I had plenty of time to refocus and calm down and figure out how to do the tasks. So when it was my turn I did those two skills perfectly. But then Itamar asked me to do the swim with mask off test again. And I knew I couldn’t. In fact the thought of it got me hyperventilating and I shook my head no.

Up on the surface Itamar, told me that without it I wouldn’t get my certification. At that point I didn’t care. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go out for the next dive. The thought of being asked to do that skill again terrified me, if only because I didn’t know how to stop anything bad from happening. I had hoped that Ita would talk me through it and help me correct what I had done wrong. But on the boat he sat on the bow far away from Adrian and I. Avishai and Carmel could see that I was upset and despite being only students did their best.

“What do you think you need to feel comfortable again?” Avishai asked. I wasn’t sure but suggested that maybe I had to start with the basic skills again and work my way up to it. They said they’d talk to Ita for me and told me not to worry. But first we were going to do free diving – that’s diving with just a mask, snorkel and fins. Even that was terrifying – just the thought of putting my face in the water made me weak. Knowing that we would be close to the surface helped me out. Ita showed off his skin diving skills, and didn’t even watch as we attempted our skin dives.

Then it was time to go back down. And this time we were going to go 14m deep (well, deep for a newbie like me). That was a lot different than 5m and too dangerous to come up for air like the last time if anything went wrong. I asked if it was possible to go back to a shallow area and try the skills there. Ita seemed irritated by the request and told me that the depth didn’t matter, meaning, no. And that’s when the panic started again. I managed to control it and enjoy the dive and master the last skills. I was good at all the swimming and buoyancy stuff. Actually I was better than good I was excellent. I still loved the diving part of diving. But then it was time to do the mask off swim and I was paralyzed. I couldn’t even go down 1 meter to get to the ocean floor. I felt the anxiety becoming suffocating, as suffocating as the 14m of water over my head. The memories of the throat full of saltwater came back fresh. I tried to calm down but I could feel the tears in my mask and my breathing going too fast and shallow. Then I started having problems equalizing my eardrums from the tears and stuffed up nose, which forced me up to the surface.

Now I was having a full panic attack. I tried to hold it in on the boat but I knew I was going to lose it. By the time we got back to the dock I was shaking and had tears running down my face as I put my equipment away. Carmel and Avishai tried to make me feel better but Ita didn’t come over to talk to me. Instead he told Adrian and I to meet him at the bar across the street at 7pm for a drink and a chat. I assumed this was the neutral meeting place where he’d tell me that I was through.

I told Adrian my fears and after showering and changing we headed over to Babalu for 7pm. Ita didn’t show up until 7:30 and then didn’t even have drink we us. I wasn’t being dumped but I wish I had. Instead he spent an hour critiquing our dives. He never did ask me what had happened during the mask off swim– so I never got a solution to overcome my panic. I got the impression that he didn’t care. For him it was either do it or fail. And since I felt doing it would mean death, my brain was telling me no.

I don’t know how. But I’d gone from loving diving to being scared of the water in just one day.

I love diving.

Today was the day we put all our book learning to the test. But of course there was some more learning to do. We watched the final two videos. Well we started to but then the power went off. So we read the accompanying chapters - they were full of scary things like nitrous poisoning, contaminated air, the bends and other diving disasters. And when the power came back on the videos didn’t do much to make me feel much more comfortable. It’s not really what you want to see before you go underwater for the first time. But that was just me – the videos got Adrian all excited about continuing on to do the advanced diving course. I told Itamar I was really nervous and he once again assured me it would be all clear and easy once we were in the water.

We broke briefly for lunch and then it was time for the equipment briefing. Ita was now accompanied by two assistants Carmel and Avishai, who were doing their divemaster course. The equipment was very intimidating and I was sure I was going to forget something very important – like, um, I don’t know, how about air? In fact it felt rather rushed and I ended up with fins that were too big for me. I asked for another pair but was told they’d be fine. I was given a pair of fins that were too big but was told they were fine. The next time we have to assemble our equipment I know I’ll have to ask for a slower refresher.

Ita had disappeared while we were waiting to get on the dive boat. Nico came over and introduced himself to us – he’s the head instructor and the guy who enthusiastically answered all my email questions. I thought he was being super polite until he explained that he ws stepping in for Ita. Apparently, while we were getting all our equipment together someone broke into his place. She was caught with $1500, his ipod and computer. But now Ita had to go to the police to press charges. Poor him, but glad that the thief was caught.

The chaos continued on the dive boat. There were 20+ other people and all their gear (photo above). I didn’t know where to go or what I was doing. And although there was a routine and protocol I wasn’t clear what that was. Before I could figure it out, we arrived at the dive site. And suddenly, it was time to jump in the water. Just like that? I wasn’t convinced I would float with the very heavy gear on so I made Adrian go in first. Not out of self-preservation (okay maybe a little bit) but because he had no fear or at least no visible fear. He made it so now it was my turn. I hesitated and hemmed and hawed at the platform edge as long as possible, making sure my floatation device was completely filled then jumped in. Although my weights were lopsided and my fins were much too big, I was floating. Woohoo! Step one achieved.

Then it was time to swim to the shallows. It was awkward but easy, actually easier than I thought. But then the hard stuff started – the skills. Skills are the basic tasks you need to be able to do in order to get your certification. Kinda like a swimming test. Including clearing water out of your mask, clearing water out of your regulator, and how to recover a regulator that’s come out of your mouth. All while underwater. Those were easy. Although the wonky weights had me tilting and falling all over the place. Nico was a super instructor. Giving Adrian and I enthusiastic thumbs up and high fives whenever we did one of the skills. The last skill was the one I’d heard was the worst – taking the mask off. Doesn’t sound like a big deal. That is until you realize that your mask is what let’s you see and what keeps the water out of your nose, throat and lungs. But Nico showed us step by step how to do it and it was a piece of cake. We celebrated down below with a happy dance - well more of a happy wobble since my weights prevented any sort of graceful movement.

Mission accomplished it was time to swim back to the boat. My feet started to cramp as I tried to keep my ginormous fins on. And it took me forever to get on the boat with all the weights they’d made me carry. But with the help of Carmel, Avishai and a couple of divemasters I got my fins and then my gear off and was on the boat. On the way to the next dive site, we saw a sea turtle and Nico found a smaller pair of fins for me that I hoped would prevent my feet from cramping again.

The second time in the water was even better. Jumping in was a piece of cake. And this time there were no skills. It was our first real open water dive. And immediately we saw fish and coral and it was amazing. I got the hang of it pretty quick, in fact most of the stuff I was worried about just seemed to take care of itself. I equalized my ears without thinking. I cleared water out of my mask no problem. And was able to control my buoyancy in the water just by breathing in and out. I got so confident that when my mask fogged up (not enough spit, i was told) Carmel motioned to me to fill it with water then clear it – and I did without hesitating. Immediately, my vision improved a hundred fold. We played with these cool umbrellas things on brain coral – when we snapped our fingers near them and they closed and disappeared inside the coral. There were big fish and little fish. Solitary fish and huge schools. There was even a giant crab or lobster thingy. (sorry, no pictures. my camera is not water resistant) I got so engrossed I realized I had no glue where, how deep or how long we were. But I was aware that Adrian wasn’t having as easy a time and probably spent more time on the surface than down with the rest of us. Then it was time to go back up. This time I took my weight belt off before attempted to get on the boat – much easier.

Our first day in the water was awesome. And I couldn’t believe I was ever scared and was now thinking we should do the advanced course. But first we had to finish that last part of our reading. Adrian, had already lost some of his enthusiasm thanks to his inability to equalize his ears or stay down underwater consistently. And the last chapter full of maths, formulas and tables didn’t help. But it was the last chapter and tomorrow we’d be going back in the water. I couldn’t wait.

Hitting the books.

It was a perfect day for studying. Meaning? It was pouring rain. Supposedly doesn’t make a difference in the water but did make a difference above ground. The notorious sand fleas and mosquitos of Utila were out in full force and bug spray was almost completely ineffective. I was beginning to look like I had chicken pox although Adrian remained almost unscathed. It didn’t help that Cross Creek Dive Centre was located on the boggy Cross Creek where the bugs were thickest. I covered up as much as I could in the muggy weather and lounged on our deck plowing through the reading material, briefly chatting to the American couple staying in the room next to us. He already had his certification so she was doing his so they could dive together. Which meant he was a little bored at the moment. They were only on a brief two-week vacation and were jealous of our trip. They were the first people we’ve met that haven’t been on big trips. It seems like everyone and there dog is doing a RTW trip so it was nice to be reminded that what we are doing is special.

By late afternoon the weather cleared up just in time for our first class indoors – of course. Actually it wasn’t a class so much as an oral test of the material. With just the two of us, it went by quite quickly, leaving us plenty of time to watch the accompanying videos for the next four hours. It was a lot to take in and we hadn’t even hit the water. I worried that it would be too much to remember especially when the consequences for not remembering stuff could be death. But Ita told me that once we were actually doing stuff with the gear it would all make more sense.

I was still really nervous about diving. I’m a control freak and relying on equipment to keep me alive underneath the sea is kinda scary because it’s out of my control. Plus all the skills we have to do look scary. It didn’t help that the skills were all things you need to do in case something does go wrong under water – although I kept being told that was very, very, very rare. And Ita insisted that diving was easier than swimming or snorkeling and was going to teach us how to free dive (snorkeling underwater) too. I hoped it would be easier. Because tomorrow we were heading out for our first day underwater. Gulp – I hoped we’d be ready.

Over dinner, we met Ellen, a Swedish girl who was a diving addict. She was just here for some fun dives and was considering doing her divemaster. I told her I was scared and she told me there was nothing to worry about. She’d been on the road for 3 months and was headed in the opposite direction. And she became the third person we’d met to tell us to go to Colombia, especially if we end up loving diving. Colombia is not only beautiful, it’s also another cheap and good place to dive. However, weather money and time will be the deciding factor about Colombia. We were seeing more rain and that could mean the start of the rainy season – which could make roads hard to travel and some destinations hard to enjoy.

Despite all my fears, it was nice to be back in school. At the end of the course, we’ll have accomplished something that we never would have done before and that’s one of the goals of this trip. As well, the course has given me an opportunity to collect more gold stars and happy faces, hopefully that would continue tomorrow.

Going under water, or rather, over the book.

When planning this whole round the world trip, I did a whole lotta research. I found some pretty nifty blogs and exchanged emails and messages with lots o’ peeps who were on or had done or were just about to leave for their own adventures. When a change of plans (i.e. we didn’t have enough money saved up) meant we were starting in Central America, one of those peeps, Cindi, inspired me and encouraged me to consider learning to scuba dive in Honduras. Now I love the water, but I usually shy away from any past time that could end in death. I guess I’m also a bit of a wimp. So I was conflicted. But Cindi convinced me that I’d love it and cautioned that I could even become addicted to it.

This was the reason for our next destination, Utila. The Bay Islands on Honduras’ Caribbean coast are supposed to be the cheapest place to get your scuba certification. Those who know me, know I love a good deal (notice I didn’t say cheap) so how could I resist. The Bay Islands are also one of the best places to learn because of the high concentration of instructors and the amount of dive sites. Quality and low cost - now that’s what I call a good deal. I was, however, still dealing with that whole wimp thing. But one of the schools I emailed were so accommodating and encouraging that on Monday morning we set off to Utila eager to get under the water.

We took a taxi to the ferry dock and paid what the driver asked for – it was too early in the morning (the Spanish part of my brain hadn’t yet woken up and neither had my desire to argue). There was a ferry getting ready to depart in the next half hour which was just enough time to count all the other backpackers waiting to get on board. I guess everyone is after the good deal.

The ferry itself was large and air conditioned – a lot different from the boats we’d taken so far – making the trip one of the easiest ones. As we pulled up to Utila, it bigger than I imagined – it even had a big hill/almost mountain at one end – a lot different from our last island adventure on tiny Tobacco Caye. But it was also very built up around the dock with cute guesthouses and waterfront cafes lining the sea – a lot different from what we’d seen in Honduras so far.

On the ferry dock, we all had to wait while the police dogs sniffed all the luggage for drugs. Then it was time to run the gauntlet of dive school reps who were there to greet the ferry. Unlike taxi drivers at bus stops, they didn’t hassle us at all and were helpful when I said I was looking for the folks from Cross Creek. Kim was one of the folks as she walked us over to the school we chatted. Originally from Barrie, she had working in the music industry before arriving in Utila a year ago. Now she was one of the instructors with no plans to leave anytime soon.

As part of our tuition we were getting a free room which had air conditioning and a private shower. No private toilet – that was down at the edge of the dock. It was rustic but clean except for the many mosquitoes and sand flies. There was also a kitchen so we could save some cash by cooking. Once we were settled in, we got our course stuff figured out. Kim wouldn’t be our teacher but Itamar would. He gave us our new PADI books and a whole bunch of reading to do before our first class the next day. Itamar suggested we just do the quizzes at the end of each chapter rather than read the whole thing. But since I still had that whole fear of death thing in the back of my head Adrian and I wanted to read it all. It was a lot to take in and I’m glad we have more than 24 hours to read it.

But after 4 hours of reading it was time for a break so we headed to the grocery store where we got a bit of a shock. Because Utila is an island, the prices were double if not triple. So rather than branch out, spaghetti was on the menu once again. Well, at least we get two free breakfasts during our stay – once we pay. I made dinner and then it was back to studying. Before we go under water we had to go over the book.

Star Trek III: the search for laundry becomes Star Trek VI: the undiscovered country.*

*Note: I have seen neither movie nor does this post have anything to do with Star Trek, I was just aiming for a catchy title for today’s entry. If you are a trekkie, you will be sadly disappointed.

About every two weeks our search for something to do becomes a search for a place to do laundry. We have about a weeks worth of clothes packed but wash them by hand wash every other week. But when you’re living out of a backpack there’s something decadent and comforting about the smell and feel of freshly laundered clothes. Most times the search is short and ends at the reception desk of wherever we’re staying. Today was not one of those days.

So I pulled out the 5 year old Lonely Planet. Now I’m sure you’re sick of me going on about this 5-year old Lonely Planet. It’s not its fault it’s old and out of date. It's Amazon’s fault. I ordered the new 2007/8 versions of the Central American Shoestring Guide but didn’t notice they’d sent me the 2004 versions until I actually got on the road 1 year later. It’s not a big deal when looking for a place to stay as so many places are on the internet. And as for the prices, I just double every one listed so it hasn’t been too bad – except when we’re looking for very specific things like Garifuna museums or places to do laundry. Knowing that the info in the book could possibly maybe most definitely be wrong, I asked the guy at the reception desk about where to do laundry. His suggestions were the same as the ones in the book so that was encouraging.

It was only 10am but it was already sweltering and carrying 10lbs of laundry it was even hotter. And none of the laundry places were around the corner. We headed to the first near the stadium trying to stay in the shade as much as possible. But when we got there it was closed – not open on Sundays. Le sigh. Okay on to place number 2 down at the south end of the city. But when we got there it was closed too – although the sign said it was supposed to be open. BLARGH! I guess it was hand washing once again.

But first we found a bench in the shade to sit on and cool off. I took my glasses off so I could wipe the sweat off my face. We guzzled the water we’d wisely brought with us then headed back to the hotel. About half way back to hotel I realized I’d left my glasses back on the bench. It was so hot I hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t wearing them. Adrian was not happy with me. So I left him under a shady tree while I went back to get them. On this lazy Sunday morning there was no one around and they were exactly where I’d left them. Phew. I joined up with Adrian and we went to find a nice air conditioned coffee shop before attacking the load of laundry.

Actually the coffee was the last thing I wanted but I needed some caffeine because the heat had sapped all the energy from us. And then to cool off, we followed up the hot coffee with some slushies and talked about taking a taxi to one of the beaches outside of town. But then Adrian discovered an easier remedy. While standing outside for a smoke he discovered the fancy hotel next door had a swimming pool. I went next door if we could use the pool – they replied of course for only 100L each (about $6). Sold! That would probably be the cost of a taxi to the beach and back but a whole lot easier.

But first there was the laundry. Once again Adrian to the rescue. He went looking for a place to hang out the clothes and found the hotel maid doing laundry… in machines! Unable to communicate with her, I went over and asked if it was possible to do some laundry. She said no problem and shook her head when I asked how much. She said she’d leave it on our room when it was done. I could have kissed her. Yay! now off to go jump in the pool. Maybe this fancy hotel had wifi too.

For the best 200 Lempiras money could buy, we spent the next 6 hours lounging in, by and around the pool. And decided there was no way we were going to a jungle lodge in this heat. And thankfully the hotel did have wifi so I was able to email the scuba place to let them know we were coming the next day rather than later in the week. Then it was back in the pool and repeat as necessary.