The Pacific Ocean's Shiants

In a complete moment of luck and fate, I bumped into a friend in Antigua, Guatemala. There was no reason for either of us to have been there. It was just one of these life things where when it happens, you have to follow the path and see where the road ends.

"Tom!''
''Luke!''

We embraced each other in a crowded square of people, and headed immediately for a bar.

''So how do you fancy coming down to the Pacific coastline for a week and looking after some baby turtles. There's no TV, Internet or radio. Just a house with five hammocks and three rooms. Oh and there's no toilet either,'' said Luke.

''I'm there.''

Within 12 hours of that conversation, I was lieing in a hammock, watching the 18ft waves crash down creating seahorses of a similar size. The beach was deserted for miles either side, with the odd house, no bigger than a single room in most cases, scattered along the smooth sand.

The kitchen entailed of a gas cooker, which was filthy, and some vegetebales which looked like they could have been there for two weeks. The three wall to wall rooms, where no bigger than the size of most bedrooms you would find in a terraced house in London with bad lighting in all. None of this mattered.

Despite being here in the most barest of circumstances there was a civilised manner in everything that you did. Time somehow slows down to a snails pace, and with that is the deepest relaxation that you could ever feel.

Scinarios enter your mind back England: your mum would be in absolute histiria to get you to school on time. The fact that you had no clean socks for that day, or for that matter clean underware. The stress of money, girls, cooking, cleaning and working all evaporte in this place and you are just left with the pure essentials of thought.

If there was an Alcoholics Anoymous for thought then this would be the place. A place where you cleanse your mind and see things in their simplist form.

I'm sure anyone reading this now would saý 'huh, some kid, doesn't quite understand the difficulties of life. Hasn't had a proper job or understand the pressures of what it's like to support a family.'
To that person, I say, yes you're right I don't have the feintest idea of waht that's like and it must be hell. But hear this. When things do get sticky, I will remeber writing this, and remember that things, whatever they are, are solvable given a careful and precise thought process.

On the same note, the locals there are some of the most incredible people that you meet. Working long hours to earn perhaps 50p an hour they are all happy. Depression doesn't exsist as far as I could tell. They have absolutly nothing. And we have so much in our society, earning rediculous wages for little or no work, so we can be in places that others will never see.

Back to the beach.... There is no way I can descibe the incredible sunsets that you see everynight around 6.30PM. After a football game on the beach betwen the locals where I scored a perfect volly and nearly impressed them with a David Beckham like free-kick, we jumped in the sea, drenched in sweat. The sun, by this time, was only half visable over the horizon of the sea. The orange colour, scattered itself inconsistantly across the water indefinately. If someone could measure us between as far as you could see, it must have been 500 miles. Coupled with the scerenic beauty, was a gentle breeze on your back, evermore slowly cooling you off.

It was as close to paradise I have ever come.

On the final night, we ate prawns which had arrived at the bar 15 minutes before we had arrived. They were, needless to say, fresh as they sounded. So much so, that I ate the whole thing with its shell still on. (Bar the head). But I've never eaten so well. The price was 1.50. Enough to buy you a portion of chips down the local chippy.

I look forward to my return.

If you want more details on the turtle project, where you save a endangered species you can e-mail Luke here, (be patient with the reply as there is no e-mail and checks it every two weeks): lukey92@hotmail.com

The Travelling God

A myth exsists between fellow travellers that an all powerful supernatural being looks and presides over us when things go wrong.
As explained in my last blog, Tom Clegg had been mugged and subsequently had a six hour ordeal at the HSBC bank in Panama City to withdraw money. The experience was made extra frustrating due to the fact that he had to catch a flight later that afternoon.

With about an hour to spare, he got his money and left saying
'Bet you they've over booked my flight the way things are going.'

Two hours later....

'I'm sorry sir we've over booked your flight......'

As you can imagine, anyone could have excused violence at that point. But Tom who was resigned to the fact that this wasn't his day and contined to listen.

'... but as an apology we can put you up in a five star hotel, including all expenses and offer you this $300 voucher which can be used on any of our Copa Airline flights in the next 12 months.'

'Yes I want this, I want that where do I sign, that's brilliant,' Tom spluttered out.

Two hours later, back at the hostel I hear banging on the door....

'Tom (me), you'll never guess what....'

That night we went out for dinner, and watched a guy pick up $5000 on a roulette wheel and drank until six AM until I had to catch my flight.

As for the travelling god, his work was not yet done with Tom Clegg:

I recieved the following e-mail yesterday...






im still here and they just gave me another 300!

On 12/6/06, Tom Nicolson wrote:

What the hell!!!

That is the funniest story i've heard!

You deserve it.

Tom

----- Original Message ----
From: tom clegg
To: Tom Nicolson
Sent: Wednesday, December 6, 2006 12:28:24 PM
Subject: Re: hey dude

mate still in panama 850 dollars up at the moment............. lets see where this ends, oh i stay in the big hotel now with cheap beer.


the travelling god likes me.



It tuns out that Tom's flight had been booked out until christmas, and so long as he wishes, he can accept the 'apology' from Copa Airlines take the five star hotel and a further $300 in flights across south america. It is the most incredible turn around of anything I have ever seen and has to be the work of the travelling GOD.

Panama City

There are few places in the world where I could be so certain that I would not return. Panama City, however, is one.
The climate is sub-tropical which means that the heat can be never escaped. Walking around for any longer than half an hour is testing, which means exploring the city is given a miss.
The City itself is in the middle of huge developement all over the city, with hotels and big businesses setting up large branches here. Walking down the street, you see all the famillar brands of McDonalds, KFC, Wendy's, Hot Rock Cafe and Burger King. This, mixed with huge shopping complexes leaves much to be questioned by travellers when they come here.
It takes the worst parts of Western cutures and the worst part of developing cultures and mixes them together in a humid sweat mix. Things are expensive and unaffordable, and the surroundings are unsafe.
If you do wish to explore the city you are hustled and bustled for money by every next person. As a traveller it is extreamly disconcerting.
One such person said: "I didn't like it there. You just felt you were going to get mugged all the time. I felt racist when I left. I didn't want to speak to any black people."
Two travellers, who I shared a room with had both been robbed and mugged respectivly within the past 48 hours.
Tom Clegg, a 27 year old from Newcastle was sitting in an Internet cafe when he was robbed. "Some guy came and sat next to me yapping off in Spanish. I couldn't understand a word he was saying but politely tried to send him on his way. Turing back to by desk, I noticed something had dissapeard. It was my wallet I looked towrads the door and clocked a boy making a fast exit. With not a second's thought I ran after him. He made it around the corner and was out of sight. It was obvious to me that the two had worked together to tri
The other, Michael, 22, from the US had a far more grusome ordeal. Met by four guys in the middle of the day, he was attacked.
"They just jumped me from behind," says Michael. "I tried to fight them off for a while until one of them pulled a gun on me. Then pinned me down and pointed a knife towards my cock. They took everything including my passport before punching me and breaking my tooth."
Michael is still stuck in Panama City having been to the US Embassy several times to try and get his passport replaced.

Like the other travellers, I too have been mugged and suffer the same fatigue of just wanting to go home.

Painfully hot and expensive, to the point where the only activity during the afternoons is to sleep, I cannot wait to return to my own country, where the most dangerous thing to do is crossing the road.

The biggest cultural difference yet

I have been now in South America for over four months. During which time, I have been mugged, tasted cow tougne and seen a mother feircely kick her child. But today I witnessed over a morning a grewsome and perverse cuture difference.
Arriving at just before 8AM, we were greeted by a mother in distress. Her face, which has been serverly burnt in a fire, is streaming with tears. One of our pupils is sick, with what appeared to be a mouth infection.
Annita, 11, whines through her vale over and over. Her cheek having swelled up to be the same size as a golf ball.
Without much hesitation, the volunteers agree that someone should go with the mother and daughter to hospital.
Catlin, a 20 year from Maine, USA, opts for the job. As she turns around, she is at a loss to where the mother has dissapeared to. In a casual manner, the local teacher explains that she has gone back to her home to get changed for the trip. The 'trip' is a two hour round journey.
"Get changed for the hospital?" I scream outragously.
"Her fucking daughter is sitting in that classroom, with what could be the mumps, and she's gone on a vanity conquest to look good in town!"
My voice was starting to break through my underbreath.
"We agree to take them in to Otavalo (the local town) and she just thinks 'oh perhaps I may meet a guy there at the hospital'".
As I was saying this, I was looking through the mist, at little Annita, who had been utterly abandoned in pain. She had two fingers that she was sucking on, with surliver dribbling out meaning that between the whines you heard a 'suck'. She was left to sit on a chair in the corner of the classroom, by herself for two hours, whilst the other children, not knowing quite what to think, could only stare.
The mother returned looking her 'best', and Catlin approached her saying we have to go. But the farce was not over yet. The mother, as badly as she had behaved, was not the only one that had to look good. Annita had to as well. And so, geting a bucket of cold dirty water, Anitta, whining even louder, was made to wash her feet and legs, before putting on her 'best shoes'.

It was shocking, annoying and infuriating to watch. It is, I know a culture difference. I kind of accept, the beating of children stills happens here. But when the vanity of a 50 year-old women priors over the health of an 11-year old girl; that I'm afriad is wrong.

I've become political

It's a cliche I know, but we really don't know how good we've got it until you see a different culture. Sleep walking into a political argument with a fellow traveler, I have become intolerant of people who winge 'their lives are bad and they can't get out of bed to sort it'. People make radical claims that they're 'ill mentally' and need anti-depressants to fix the problem. Never is the problem taken on first hand, dealt with and sorted. Just to shy away, take days of work in the hope that 'things' will get better. It infuriates me to the point anger.
The British have become so reliant on a system that carries on giving free health and benefits that people in general think there is something wrong with them and therefore entitled to prescriptions.

Take this indigenous family for example. Everyday, cold or hot, ill or healthy, fit or unfit, young or old, disabled or abled, they go to work. Why? Not because they want to but because they have to. To live is the only goal, and they do it without complaint or hesitance. That is how I want to be. 100% in for living and not some kind of pathetic moocher.

Columbia......

Just to let you know if you didn't already......

I'm in Columbia, doing all kinds of crazy stuff. Carry on reading. Trying to wang an interview with a drug lord like in the film Blow...

The beauty of the slums

Several weeks ago, I wrote about a girl that I had met in a club in 'you know our culture isn't that great.' Last weekend, I was invited to her house, and what a surprise it was. Turning off tarmaced road onto a dusty trail of rocks and stones, my eyebrows lifted and I hoped I had the right address. Her front door has a metal frame, with steel wires across similar to a tennis court. Her 'house' has two permanent room, a bedroom and a living room. Each about a similar size if I lay across the floor I would just about be able to touch from end to the other with my arms fully stretched. The kitchin is around the back and barely room for me to walk in. It's crawlling with ants and cochroaches. There's no garden.
The front porch has been converted into Mayuroie's room. Her cuboard is a disused fridge and her walls to not reach the roof. I dread to think of what it must be like to sleep here when the temperature droops.
Oh yeah. There's no shower. Only buckets of cold water to dunk on yourself.
Weirdly however the familly, of which there are five in total comprising of a mother and four children, have THREE televisions including a DVD player, all fairly modern. Before you think it's because they're so cheap out here, think again. They cost more than they do in the UK.

But here lives the most beautiful girl that I have seen. Barely reaching 5ft, she has long black hair incredible eyes and the most amazing figure. It is amazing to think that this girl, with so little can look and be so beuatiful. So many people at home just go off the rails when they have little, turn to other forms of escapism when the run is bad. It something which I just don't feel sorry for anymore. Mayurie, a 21 year old girl is as innocent as they come. She doesn't drink, and when I suggested to get some beers she freaked saying that alcohol is strictly for special occasions, doesn't smoke and certainly doesn't do drugs. I obeyed the rule on every front, seeing a girl that had absoulute respect for herself.

Her clothes may suggest that she has maybe fairly good upbringing. All the latest fashions etc. Of what little makeup she wears when she goes out, she could be a 'daddy's little rich girl.' It is a polorised reality.

When I was there her mother was 'away for the weekend,' leavning her in charge of her little brother and sister. She cooked, cleaned even dressed for them. She wakes up a 5AM just so she can have time to prepare lunch for the little ones. All this without a second thought.

She is, without a doubt, the beauty of the slums.