tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-97156142010-02-06T01:05:31.015-06:00The official source of Dean-based adventures and musings.Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comBlogger249125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-23683687247333342282010-02-05T12:53:00.001-06:002010-02-05T13:03:40.750-06:00

It was a long, all day trip from Santa Catalina to Panama City, but soon suburbs filled the bus windows. I knew for certain we had arrived when the bus crossed the Panama Canal on the friendship bridge and I could see boats coming out of the canal headed for the Pacific ocean beyond. And I knew it was going to be a different experience than the rest of Central America when I arrived at the bus

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-30243815533775665972010-01-29T08:56:00.002-06:002010-02-01T13:37:35.121-06:00

I left the mountain town of Boquete for David (pronounced dah-veed) at noon with three people I’d met from the thankless climb up Volcan Baru: Clint & Kenny (two guys from Jersey) and Raj (from England). Raj was headed to Panama City to fly to Colombia and Clint & Kenny were, like me, heading to a place called Santa Catalina. They were looking for a bit of surf before heading back to the US and I

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-67289833382895191582010-01-26T11:50:00.003-06:002010-01-31T07:39:11.952-06:00

Bocas del Toro was in the distance and I was making my way, half asleep, on the series of buses that would take me across Panama to the Pacific coast and then back up into the Chiriqui highlands. The scenery was beautiful but, I had trouble keeping my eyes open after my Saturday night sendoff from Bocas and I would like to think I managed to be awake to see most of the highlights like the large

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-34578374069988859142010-01-24T11:30:00.002-06:002010-01-30T07:33:22.472-06:00

Most renowned explorer in human history Christopher Columbus. Scourge of the Spanish Sir Francis Drake. Fearsome pirate (and delicious rum) Captain Henry Morgan. Legendary travel and photo journalist Dean Katsiris. What do we all have in common? We spent inordinate amounts of time enjoying the paradise that is Bocas del Toro, my first stop in Panama and one of the most magnificent places I have

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-70177583487325939012010-01-18T10:34:00.002-06:002010-01-19T18:16:31.086-06:00

Phil, Perry, and I were in El Nubio, the white 4WD that Perry had rented heading ever closer to the Panama border and specifically to Puerto Viejo. We'd heard it was really sketchy and I didn't expect much from it at all, but as we rolled into town (what a way to travel!) I decided it was a marked improvement from Cahuita. At least here, there were people milling in the streets (some of whom were

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-7967296983413494042010-01-14T13:54:00.002-06:002010-01-19T14:29:55.127-06:00

While it had long been the plan to visit the towns on Malpais and Montezuma on the tip of the Nicoya Peninsula, the lack of transportation options had changed my mind. There was no way to go down the peninsula (it’s interesting that in poorer countries the buses, though less scheduled and more packed, would run EVERYwhere and it was much more simple to get around) which thwarted my first plan. So

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-7891347543717119532010-01-10T06:07:00.001-06:002010-01-13T01:44:15.270-06:00

One thing the marketing people of Costa Rica taught me: Jeep-Boat-Jeep sounds a lot more exciting than van-ferry-van. I was in Monteverde, however, and JBJ was the fastest and most convenient way to get across the continental divide to La Fortuna, my next stop on the way to the Caribbean. And it was worth it, if not for the adventure I'd hoped for then because the views and the rural passage down

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-9582045881794084592010-01-08T15:13:00.004-06:002010-01-12T21:23:51.307-06:00

When our adventure last ended, we were winding our way up the green mountains from Tamarindo to Monteverde, Sloane, Shaun, Johnny, Jez, and myself, in Sloane’s aptly named Green Machine. We arrived at 2:30 PM to find the wind howling and the temperature already too cool for shorts and a t-shirt. The hostel we’d been recommended, Vista de la Golfa, was full (they had a few cabins left but she wasn

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-81285694967582571662010-01-07T16:10:00.005-06:002010-01-13T09:45:25.732-06:00

They stood in an unordered mass of over a thousand bodies, swaying like palms in the wretched sun as wave upon wave of hot malice fought to rip any remaining moisture from their parched, barky skin. An occasional gust of wind brought both relief and clouds of dust that settled on them like a powder. Slowly, the mass of humanity shifted and one ponderous step forward was taken before stillness

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-39030612694260960702010-01-02T15:14:00.006-06:002010-01-04T15:46:06.458-06:00

It was about as organized as I have ever been travelling: I had booked somewhere to stay for New Years Eve almost two weeks in advance. Generally, I prefer the showing up and finding what you find approach. At first this approach might seem laden with stress and worry, but with time and enough experience showing up and finding something that works, there is actually less. You don’t have to scour

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-87364409654815918642009-12-28T15:06:00.006-06:002010-01-04T15:52:41.531-06:00

Ometepe is an island in the middle of giant inland Lake Nicaragua, formed much like the island of Maui by two volcanoes and an isthmus of volcanic soil connecting them. And it was our next destination, just for a quick two nights as we had already booked ourselves into Pacha Mama Hostel in San Juan del Sur for Dec 28-Jan 2 on the southern coast of Nicaragua. We set out at around 11:30, catching

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-91858909854840913662009-12-25T21:30:00.004-06:002009-12-29T15:03:27.512-06:00

First things first: by this point, we had a cadre, a crew, a group of travellers hanging out together, which I have to admit is something new to me. Generally I'd keep it down to one or two people but it's Christmas and everybody is great. Plus this is Central America, and there's safety in numbers. So the dramatis personae: Myself; Phil, a friend from Saskatoon; Jez, an Englishman whom Phil and

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-76844609201067387952009-12-22T21:10:00.002-06:002009-12-24T09:23:56.859-06:00

That morning I was in for a pleasant surprise. I checked out of Hostel La Clinica, grateful that they’d taken me in last night but not really eager to spend another day sleeping on stained sheets. It was fine and cheap for the most part, but it was pretty quiet and I was ready to meet some people. So I went to the Bigfoot Hostel and checked in at 11 AM, which has plenty of people everywhere not

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-14662472046906862722009-12-18T23:57:00.001-06:002009-12-19T12:18:44.676-06:00

Leaving Juayua on the Flower Route at 10 AM gets you to the volcanic black sand beaches of El Salvador’s Balsam coast (and specifically El Tunco) at about 2 PM. From there, you wander down a small cobblestone road from the highway into town, passing a few hotels here and there and eventually coming upon some restaurants and cafes. All this done with 20-some kilograms of backpack in surprising

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-57579482999956537302009-12-14T10:30:00.003-06:002009-12-16T11:10:41.768-06:00

Crossing a border is like starting your travels all over again: new place, new rules, new people. You never know what to expect on the other side. It was time for me to leave a country I’d grown pretty familiar with, Guatemala, for that small unknown mark on Central America’s Pacific coast: El Salvador. I had just enough Quetzals left, in my estimates, to make it to the border. The journey

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-79631265877521737942009-12-10T21:38:00.000-06:002009-12-12T09:53:47.483-06:00

We returned from our hike to Taljumulco, the highest point in Central America and said our goodbyes. I needed to find a place to stay and after chatting with a girl from Vancouver, decided the hostel attached to Quetzal Trekkers, Casa Argentina, would do just fine. I was going to meet up with the Vancouver girl and her friend for wine later, but right now, I wanted some street food. Sundays in

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-53776010225074487482009-12-06T17:50:00.001-06:002009-12-14T19:59:40.180-06:00

I quickly loaded my pack with gear and refilled my water bottles (5 L in all) while everybody was loading their packs into the back of the pickup. We were setting off at 5:15 AM for the highest point in Central America, Tajulmulco, about three hours north of Xela close to the Mexican border. Quetzaltrekkers, the company I was travelling with, provided almost all of the gear including a backpack,

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-31321764075536787022009-12-05T05:15:00.007-06:002009-12-11T07:26:17.128-06:00

I felt like I was in China again – it was difficult to get a straight answer from anybody. One travel agent had told me there were three chicken buses (full of locals and whatever they might bring with them, including, perhaps, chickens) that went to Xela directly: 7 AM, 8 AM, and 1 PM. However, when I showed up in the town centre an 7:50 the bus drivers claimed that his bus was not direct and

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-17417701351233718722009-12-03T20:26:00.002-06:002009-12-09T20:56:51.445-06:00

We knew it before we went – every traveller was talking about it and warning those headed that way to be informed – but no trip to Guatemala is complete with a trip to Lake Atitlan, a high altitude lake whose shores are dotted with picturesque villages on steep mountain slopes all offering unique views on the three volcanoes that enclose the lake. And, due to an earthquake a few years ago that

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-14647213477844356582009-11-30T23:48:00.002-06:002009-12-07T13:03:35.744-06:00

I won’t sugar coat it; the ride from Semuc Champey to Coban was... not nice. The views were spectacular, the sun was shining, but with a bit too much to drink the night before many of us were not feeling particularly up for twisting and turning in the sun. I focused on the view and was, perhaps luckily, the first one to find the washrooms at the gas station outside Coban. After that, a Snickers

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-86615211355788248472009-11-21T23:08:00.005-06:002009-11-25T18:16:12.634-06:00

Phil and I almost slept in and missed our taxi to the bus station, but we did wake up and were just walking out the door when Sergio (who owns the tour company) pulled up in his golden chariot. Well, the gold was rusting and the chariot was a Toyota, but it got us to the bus station with plenty of time to spare. Which was lucky because contrary to what we’d been told, the shuttle didn’t just fit

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-31216032296552396912009-11-17T21:59:00.004-06:002009-11-22T22:55:28.063-06:00

Phil and I were three miles from the border of Belize and Guatemala, with a vengeful sun beating down on us and the air feeling like a convection oven. We were leaving the town of Succotz fully loaded with our backpacks and planning to walk to the border and (hopefully) grab a local “chicken” bus on the Guatemala side into the town of Flores. This we would use as our base for exploring Flores and

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-28368869871623347482009-11-15T13:00:00.005-06:002009-11-22T23:02:52.877-06:00

We took the slowest possible public bus from Belize City to San Ignacio. We stopped, it felt, every 500 m to pick somebody up from the side of the road or drop them off. Apparently, there are express busses for the same price that don’t make these stops. We were most definitely not on one of them. So it was that we arrived in San Ignacio just before 5:00. I’d read about this place called Barton

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-12204730480585596662009-11-12T23:16:00.004-06:002009-11-17T22:31:58.089-06:00

We were out of Orange Walk and on a bus headed south. Although this town had been a shaky introduction to Belize, we were feeling a bit better about things in the morning. For one, the town was alive and friendly in the morning. Secondly, the weather was actually pretty nice, with scattered clouds and even sunshine. Finally, we were moving on and as a backpacker that’s always an exciting thing.

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-3188086999761111702009-11-09T16:27:00.003-06:002009-11-17T20:34:46.603-06:00

South of the border, down Mexico way. South of the border again, to Belize today. Phil never sung these lines, but he should have. I’m not saying he’s a great singer, but it would’ve made a great Sinatra-esque intro to this blog post. For you see, we were heading to Belize, taking a bus from Tulum to Chetumal (164 pesos) and then another bus from Chetumal across the border to Orange Walk, Belize

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com2