20th April 2000 until November 2000

1. California

Half a day to pack a backpack is NOT enough! On the 20th of April after lunch, Valerie drops me at the airport, where my friend Jacky, a Luxair pilot, invites me for a last Rosport Blue. I first land in Frankfurt to board my 10-hour flight to Los Angeles, California. After "Tarzan" and "The world is not enough", some extremely inquisitive immigration officers make me wait over one hour at arrival. Hey, I paid a 10-year USA Visa! I am happy to see my friend Diana again who picks me up at busy LAX airport. My new home is a comfortable couch in Santa Monica. It has been a long day. In the morning I walk down the main avenue (If you want your nails done or need to buy a second-hand car, that's the place) as far as the theme-park-like Santa Monica pier, the oldest leisure pier on the West Coast. I continue my excursion to Venice Beach, Ocean Front Walk, a human circus of acrobats, oiled-up fitness freaks and petition circulators. After lively 3rd Street Promenade back in Santa Monica, I hop on a Big Blue Bus to the wonderful Getty Centre in the Santa Monica mountains, from where you have a superb view over the city. The museum with its impressive architecture is extremely educative and holds many masterpieces by Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Renoir, Michelangelo... I was enchanted by some Cycladic stone sculptures. In the evening we eat good Thai food with two friends of Diana and then we enter an obscure Saloon where the lead singer of the live band is a fat lesbian lady. After American breakfast Diana drives me first to the 'Golden Triangle' of Beverly Hills where we start our VIP tour at the luxury shopping streets on Rodeo Drive. Next destination is Hollywood Boulevard. As Diana works as an attorney in the film business, she is the ideal tour guide for the leisure metropolis built around movie- and entertainment industry. We step over the famous bronze stars, contemplate the not less famous foot- and handprints at the Chinese Theatre and visit Frederick's of Hollywood Lingerie. After cruising along Sunset Boulevard we stop at one of the world's prime palaeontology sites: the La Brea Tar Pits where we discover the remains of thousands of prehistoric creatures. Before sunset we manage to get to the observatory to pose in front of the white, distant Hollywood sign. As it is Saturday night, Diana and her boyfriend Tim take me to Formosa (No, it's not Mexican!) and then to a fabulous, private party where I meet Maximus. After brunch at Blueberry's I am dropped at the airport and I pray for a cheap last-minute flight to Phoenix, located in the Sonoran desert. US$ 158 for a 1hour return ticket? Nobody shall ever tell me again that US inland flights are bargains.

Some hours later I am waiting in 'Paradise' at Sky Harbour airport in arid Phoenix, Arizona (300+ days of sunshine!). Eventually I see the smiling face of my friend Scotti. Scotti is about to move to Sidney. That is why her friend Christina, who manages a golf course, lends us one of her nice luxury apartments. After a Bagels breakfast we try to sunburn completely while hiking up Squaw Peak. Mission accomplished: it's a great view and some days later my neck starts to peal like an onion. With a cool jeep, which Scotti borrowed from a friend, we drive to the beautiful Desert Botanical Garden where I am most impressed by some succulent plants that look like stones. In the evening we meet Scotti's sympathetic boyfriend David and her German friend Christina at an Italian restaurant where we celebrate Scotti's last day in Phoenix.

The next day I have my flight back to LA where I sit with Diana and her heartbroken friend Christina in a restaurant at 3rd Street Promenade. Universal Studios are ok but not as huge as I had imagined. Terminator 2 (3D action theatre) is fantastic and Waterworld show (many explosions and life plane crash) is spectacular too. At night we go to the first ever presentation of the movie 'Frequency', designated to the production team. Diana worked on it so she gets us free tickets. Later on we eat Mexican. On Thursday I catch a bus to Downtown LA. I walk from Union Station to Mexican Olvera Street (El Pueblo de LA), Civic Center, Little Tokyo, famous Bradbury Building, and Grand Central Market and then I take the 1-quarter Angel's Flight rail to the Moca and Westin Bonaventure. The next morning I have to organise my flight to Hawai'i. At Continental I have a Luxembourgish operator on the phone who doesn't believe his ears. Eventually I book an AIRHITCH ticket (www.4cheapair.com) in Marina del Rey for US$ 129. In the evening we have an amusing wine tasting. The day after I visit Tim, an enthusiastic engineer, in Pasadena with Christina (Afternoon = Shopping!). Later in the day Tim has to lend me some proper clothes to go to Heather's party where I eat some excellent smoked mussels. Like always, we're the first to come and the last to leave. While sitting in the sun at Starbuck's the next morning I meet Richard, a sympathetic programmer. In the afternoon Tim and Diana drive me to the picturesque, but touristy Laguna Beach, where we fall over some burgers at Johnny Rocket's in a 70ies ambience. That night Diana brings me to one of these 'fabulous' wrap parties to celebrate the termination of a movie. Finally we belong to those 'splendid' people like movie stars, models or producers... but we mainly talk to some of Diana's friends, her funny, extroverted colleague Frank, and PV Herman... and the barkeeper of course. Special guest: Johnny Depp.

On the 1st May at 9:30 I get on the comfortable, luxury Coastal Pacific Express that takes a scenic tour along the coast, where you see Dolphins playing in the sea. From the Bay Bridge (8,5 miles) coming from Oakland, I have an impressive view over the spectacular San Francisco skyline by night. Unfortunately, Mark, whom I am supposed to stay with, does not answer the phone. I wander around the huge, magnificent buildings in the Financial District (e.g. TransAmerica Pyramid), destination Chinatown. The immediately very concerned homeless people invite me to sleep next to them, but I finally prefer to pay 17 US$ at Green Tortoise Hostel where I arrive quite exhausted after midnight. The next day I take the ferry to Sausalito, where Mark, who is extremely friendly and helpful, comes to pick me up. After showing me around, we drive over the 'international orange' coloured Golden Gate Bridge back to town. At 3 p.m. I start my walking tour through relaxing Yerba Buena Gardens and MOMA. It's a very pleasant, structured city with beautiful architecture, inviting streets, interesting, lively people and a great, relaxed atmosphere. I hop on the wooden cable car (the conductor is a one-man show) on Powell Street and enjoy the scenic ride along greatly preserved Victorian architecture. The 3-day pass is good value for money! The trip ends at Fisherman's Warf from where I have a good view to the isolated high-security Prison Island Alcatraz. I meet Mark later in an Irish Pub (Kate O'Brian). He brings me to his office, where he is working on a very interesting Internet project. After some organisational problems to wake up (none of us has a watch), we manage to drive Mark's roommate Kea Danger Kaveh to his office and I am just on time to meet my friend Scotti. We take a bus to Castro, the weird, gay district of San Francisco. We make it to the top of windy Twin Peaks from where you have an absolutely magnificent panoramic view over the whole San Francisco area. After another cable car ride we admire the noisy colony of funny sea lions at touristy leisure Pier 39. At a food stall we eat some tasty, happy hour Dungeness crab and the traditional Clam Chowder in a Sourdough bowl (made of bread). Walking down Lombard Street (the crookedest street in the world) we pass through the Italian quarter and the lively, crowded Chinatown. Unfortunately Mark has again already a flight to LA, but his talkative roommate Kea is a good entertainer. He is a programmer with whom I have highly interesting conversations about future technological developments (domotic and a universal interface). For breakfast (with interesting hazelnut coffee) I meet a last time Scotti. Along the eclectic shops of Haight Ashbury, the centre of the Hippie movement in the 60ies, I walk inside the huge Golden Gate Park to sit on Hippie Hill and spend my time in the charming Botanical Gardens. After Presidio and Marina District (impressive Palace of Fine arts) I return to the apartment, but Kea is not home. In the morning I get to the bus near Embarcadero just on time (still no clock) without goodbye.

It is Cinco de Mayo and I arrive in Santa Barbara in the evening. The fiesta has already started and so has my pretty friend Wendy who, after the 3rd phone call that I make from the station, just manages to communicate the name of a bar (El Paseo) that I am supposed to tell the cab driver. I am glad to meet Wendy and after having caught up the lost time with some Margarita, we go to eat amazing French Dips (huge Steak Sandwiches) at Joe's. Wendy has a wedding the next morning, so she drops me on State Street where I stroll around the shops and watch the Mexican population celebrate their 5th May festivities. Santa Barbara is a small, artificial town for rich people, but everything is very pleasant and clean. In the afternoon we watch a tournament of beach volley at the same place where this sport has been invented. Unfortunately the wind is icy, but I use the time to read a bit about Hawaii. The evening starts with a very fun garden party and then we go for some of the best Sushi I have ever tasted (some of the most expensive too). In one of the lively bars (it's Saturday night after all!) we meet again the sympathetic host of the garden party. Early the next morning Wendy has to play beach volley, so I walk to the Amtrak station and take the 90-minutes Trolley Tour together with the tourists (Wendy offered me a free ticket). The Santa Barbara mission is nice, but I am more impressed by the perfect, asymmetrical Court House. Some hours later I find myself back in Downtown LA again, where the festivities have reached their peak. A homeless helps me find my bus and then I am relieved to be back at my 'headquarter' and see again Diana and Tim.

2. Aloha from Hawaii

On the 8th May I get up at 4:30 am and Diana is so kind to drive me to the airport. Number 6 on the standby list I finally get on the plane to Honolulu (Oahu) with Skyservice. As we are landing (for me unexpectedly) at Kahului airport in Maui, I notice that my backpack is only checked through until here and I have to leave the plane. Luckily I manage to get an island hopping coupon (with Visa) for 55 US$ (instead of 100 US$). Some hours later I land with Hawaiian Air in Kona (Hawai'i, Big Island). This relatively young volcanic island is quasi deserted over large areas. Only the north and eastern parts of the mountains (Mauna Kea) get some of the heaviest rainfalls in the world and transform the fertile volcanic ashes into paradisiacal, lush green forests with many flowers and waterfalls. The Hawaiian way of life is very relaxed and easy going (expressed by moving your fist with outstretched thumb and little finger). I phone Ron at Patey's Place (17 US$/night, ½ h free Internet) for pick-up service to Kailua (5 US$). Here I meet Frank who promises a 3-day tour of the island for 75 USD, departing on Wednesday. I walk along the calm promenade. Although it is off-season, diving is full booked (100 US$ for 2 dives). I follow 2 fellow travellers to the cheapest dinner available: Taco Bell menu with unlimited refill for 3 US$. The next morning I find out that Frank does not have any people yet for his tour. As I missed the bus now I do some laundry (spoil half of my clothes with BLEACH), hang around on the beach, visit the unimpressive Hulihe'e Palace, walk the promenade, and gather information for my main objective: Volcanoes National Park. Luckily I meet a tall Canadian backpacker with long hair who wants to hike into the Volcano crater. Martin and I organise our excursion, have some happy hour Long Island Ice Tea with a waitress, pass at Taco Bell and go to bed early as our bus leaves at 6:45 am to Hilo.

We drive north and then east around the island. Great landscape! We walk some miles to picture the spectacular Akaka falls that plunge 420 feet over a volcanic cliff. A friendly couple on honeymoon has pity for our poor hitchhiking skills and drives us to the Volcanoes National Park Visitor Centre. By car we skip as well the entrance fee. Unfortunately we have to walk back again some miles to buy food and water. At about 2 pm we finally walk down the Kilauea caldera. The scenery could not be more spectacular on another planet. Fantastic viewpoints; hot steam vents; sporadic attempts by sparse vegetation to set foot in this arid, hot ash and lava desert; intriguing cracks and fissures on the ground; and above all the cruel, burning sun. After walking through a cold lava tube, leading deep inside the volcano, we hitchhike another 45 minutes ride down the Chain of Craters Road. Absolutely breathtaking views as you drive towards this endless coast of frozen magma that cooled down on its devastating flow into the ocean and created this bizarre, threatening black landscape. In the evening we watch a thin, red stream of lava glow in the dark. The rangers convince us not to camp here. We have our first picnic and decide to hike back to the Visitors Centre. We find ourselves a nice viewpoint on the crater rim to rest our tired feet. Although we use a picnic table as a shelter, the increasing rain (mist) chases us back to the Visitors Centre where we rest in our sleeping bags under a windy roof. Frozen as we are in the morning, we walk to the very expensive Volcano Hotel to heat our bones at a fireplace in the lobby. And as we sit there in our leather armchairs, we even get free coffee from the breakfast buffet. Again a friendly German couple picks us up and drives us the 11 miles around the crater rim and then to the coast. Armed with 4 litres of water each we penetrate further and further into this arid desert of fissured, black lava; sharp, cutting edges (looking like burned glass); grey, metallic tubular structures (like giant silvery octopus'); and 'gigeresque' (Giger: artist who designed 'Alien') rock sculptures. Our objective is to reach the huge white steam column on the horizon where the lava flows into the sea. We walk 400 meters away from the coast, as huge plates sometimes break off and fall into the sea. The ground that we step on gets hotter and hotter as we approach our goal and eventually we have to check before each step if the surface temperature of the ground is not too extreme. Finally we manage to climb on a burning hill to have a better view. I have never been so close to hell and heaven in the same time. To get back to Kona we need 4 lifts on pickup trucks and a Polynesian Tours bus.

The next morning I fly with Martin to Honolulu on Oahu. We take a bus along shopping galleries and resort hotels to Waikiki Polynesian Hostel (17 US$). Our German roommate Thomas joins us for an expensive nightlife excursion in Waikiki. The Moose Bar is great fun thanks to a brilliant live band. In the morning I sign up with John from the hostel for a 15 US$ excursion around the island. Martin who had his guitar stolen leaves to Kaua'i. Our tour leads us along beautiful vegetation and pineapple plantations (Dole) to our first stop in Haleiwa, the surfing capital of the world, where the stupid TV series 'Baywatch Hawaii' is filmed. The Surf Museum is surprisingly interesting. I cannot imagine how it feels to surf on a suicidal 30 feet wave. Shortly after we do a little cliff diving and then we visit the sacred, sacrificial heiau (temple) Pu'u O Mahuka (build with lava rock) and poised on a 'pali' overlooking Waimea Bay. We have a nice snorkelling session and then I try some tasty Hawaiian food. We drive down the scenic East Coast, passing Robin Master's estate (Magnum) and locations where 'Jurassic Park' was filmed. For dinner I join people from our tour for an expensive 'Paradise' Cheeseburger. The devastating air raid bombing of the trapped US Pacific Fleet anchored in Pearl Harbour by Imperial Japanese forces on December 7th 1941 was the trigger event for America to enter World War II. After some moving historic film documents I visit the Arizona Memorial where you see the remains of one of the sunken battleships. I meet Thomas and Gina at the Zoo for a concert and later I go to see the slightly disappointing movie 'Gladiator'. Although I get up early, I only manage to arrive at Diana's house in Los Angeles at 1 am the following day. I take a day off to do some writing and shopping in Santa Monica (great bookstores) and at night I watch with Diana the Director's cut of a Mafia movie that will come out next year. On 17th May I hop on a Greyhound bus to Tijuana (near San Diego), and before I realise it, I am finally in Mexico.

3. Mexico

The notorious border-town Tijuana is probably not the best place to get a positive 'first impression' of Mexico. After finding my way past the well-guarded Customs and Immigration offices I head for the raucous Avenida Revolucion to stay in expensive Hotel Lafayette (20 USD). At night teenage gringos patrol this noisy disco-infested tourist trap to intoxicate themselves on "All you can drink for 10 USD" offers. I flee from this dirty city already the next morning. During 18 hours I drive down arid Baja California (56 USD) and in the bus I have my first chat in Spanish with the very patient Alejandra.

On arrival in the little Mission village Loreto next to a national marine park I meet Ludo and Xavier from France. We share a room in the peaceful Hotel San Marino, go swimming in the calm Mar de Cortez and let the world go by on the terrace of the perfectly located Café Ole. It is not the season for whale watching, so I leave the next day to La Paz, a pleasant beach town with a nice palm-lined promenade. I check in at the popular Pension California in front of which you can buy the most delicious fish Tacos. I have interesting conversations with Robert (a sympathetic "gentleman of leisure"), 3 English boys, the ironic Dr Meinik (who sponsors the 'jugo de naranja') and even a Shaman who maintains that time has no impact on the present as every moment lasts forever. On Saturday night 3 Mexicans bring me to a lively disco where I have to drink Tequila and dance with the locals. After sunset the next day Robert, who has been all around the world, prepares dinner for us (NB: Impossible to buy beer after 7 pm in La Paz. Popular brands are Modelo Negro, Sol, Corona and XX).

On Monday evening I finally manage to get a ferry to Topolobampo on the mainland. My travel companions are the 2 Swiss girls Martina and Nicole and the 3 English boys. After a beer near the wannabe disco we decide to sleep outside on deck of the boat. The next morning we immediately get a bus to Los Mochis (Hotel Arcos), just good for cheap laundry and Internet (1USD/hour). In the evening I visit a cantina where I get involved in a frightening conversation with a local drug dealer. At 5:30 am we board the minibus to Castro-Estacion. The relatively expensive train takes us from sea level to the more than 2300 m high Creel, along spectacular, scenic valleys, rivers and canyons. In Divisadero village you have a fantastic view into the Barranca del Cobre (Copper Canyon), inside which Arizona's Grand Canyon would fit 3 times.

The relaxing mountain village Creel is a good base-camp for hikes, and Casa Margarita (60 Peso = 6USD for a dorm w/ BF and dinner, a bargain) is the place to be until the Happy Hour in nearby Hotel Margarita. I meet another Swiss girl Regula and Nick, a very funny dude who drove down from Canada with his bicycle. Together with the 3 Swiss Meitschis we march a 15-km walk to the absolutely wonderful Recohuata Hot Springs where we are spoilt with amazing views on semiarid landscapes and huge rock formations. But the real reward for our effort lies inside the heavenly, temperate waters of the aguas calientes springs: jumping rock, natural water slide and excellent Jacuzzi all-inclusive. After the exhausting 30-minute ascend back to the top we put up the tent and start cooking. Some Tarahumara Indians, who are famous for their quadruple marathon (160km) footraces, keep us company. Nick, who has arrived with his bicycle, caters for the beer and music (Mozart) while we stuff ourselves with guacamole and tuna tacos. After an icy, freezing night we notice that the rest of our food has been stolen. If we're stupid enough to leave the cool-box outside the tent, we probably don't deserve any breakfast. Back in Creel I have an ice-cream session with Nick and a guy from San Diego. That night we have an improvised fiesta, 'organised' by San Diego who pays round after round to more than 10 people. At 7 am the 3 English boys take the bus to Chihuahua. As they wake me up I decide to join them. Here we visit the headquarters of Pancho Villa, the legendary bandit who became a revolutionary hero.

I get on the 8:30 pm overnight bus to the fabled silver city Zacatecas. After checking in at Hotel Rio Grande (60 Pesos), I start my tour of the charming colonial town with its nice cathedral and museums. I take the teleferico (cable car) to the Cerro de la Buffa hill, dominating the East of Zacatecas. After meeting some students I walk back to the centre where I meet again Martina and Nicole. For dinner we go to a nice Mexican restaurant. In the morning a small train drives me into the mina El Eden, where a friendly guide explains the terrible conditions in which enslaved Indians were digging here for gold and silver. Geological indicators for these metals are quartz, then copper and iron oxide. Back in town there is a huge demonstration. After a chicken lunch I make the fatal decision to visit the ancient ruins of La Quemada (55km south). The bus drops me off on the main street half an hour before closing of the archaeological zone. To make the mess perfect a thunderstorm is preparing. I hurry several km through the pouring rain. The surprised guardian gives me shelter in his tiny booth and offers me free entrance. In the rain I sprint up the hill and have a truly breathtaking view from the top of the abandoned fortifications with lightning all around and a dark threatening sky above me.

Two hours later I can change my wet clothes and wait at the bus station for my 6 hours overnight bus to Guadalajara, the second biggest city in Mexico. The bad weather seems to follow me: knee-deep water in the streets. I need 5 coffee refills at Sanborn's, before I can wade through the flooded town in search of a hotel. In the afternoon I visit the large plazas, the Cathedral, the huge Mercado Libertad and enjoy the murals at the Palacio Gobierno and Instituto Cultural de Cabanas (Unesco). The Plaza de los Mariachis is deserted. Maybe it's not the right season. The lively La Terraza where I meet Abraham and Carlos is a fun place though. After visiting the museum the next morning I get on a local bus to Tequila where I visit a strong smelling factory. An old man proudly explains me the whole process from Blue Agave steaming to maceration and distillation of the Tequila.

The next day I leave to Guanajuato, a silver city in a narrow valley with old mine shafts serving as underground streets. Casa Kloster is a fine place to stay for 80 Peso. The triangular Jardin de la Union is the social heart of the city. Many of the 16000 university students gather here for people watching. Another good place is Guanajuato Grill. Next morning I climb up the narrow streets behind my hotel (e.g. Callejon del Beso, where the balconies meet) to the Monumento al Pipila. My afternoon excursion leads me to the spooky Las Momias museum, where over 100 recent cemetery mummies are on display. On Saturday morning I make the stupid decision to get off the bus in Queretaro where I get a very bad hotel (water from 8 to 9 am) for 10 USD. I cannot understand why UNESCO listed this place as World Heritage. I have a look at the uninspiring aqueduct Los Arcos and participate in a magic show on one of the many (quite pleasant) plazas.

The megalopolis Mexico DF can only be grasped if you accept a love-hate relationship with this place where over 20 million people gather together in high-rise buildings, colonial mansions and shabby shantytowns. The legendary Aztec City Tenochtitlan, built on a peaceful lake and surrounded by floating gardens, has now turned into a noisy, polluting cancer-growth, whose pipeline tentacles pump the water at great cost from outside the Valle de Mexico. Most of the magnificent buildings and architectural treasures are thus sinking at an uneven pace into the ground (9 meters in this century). I arrive at the busy Terminal Norte and take the crowded Metro to the Centro Historico. The main sights here are the Zocalo (one of the world's largest city squares) dominated by the sinking Cathedral Metropolitana and the Palacio National (great murals); the dissected Aztec Templo Mayor; the white marble palace of Bellas Artes, containing the excellent anti-capitalist Diego Rivera painting 'El Hombre, Controlador del Universo'; and the popular park Alameda Central, where some obscure creatures try to threaten me away from my belongings. Good inexpensive food can be found everywhere, especially the multi-course comida corrida (menu of the day for 3 USD) are great value for money. Every evening around 6 pm I have a huge coffee at a Chinese bakery and later on I go to Plaza Garibaldi to chat with the Mariachis and watch the tourists pay for songs. On Monday I hire a gondola to cruise the famous chinampas (floating gardens of the Aztecs) of Xochimilco. I pass as well at the huge university with over 250000 students. I spend a full day at the wonderful, educative and absorbing Museo Nacional de Antropologia and another day just flies by during my excursion with 4 Tchecs to Teotihuacan. This marvelous archeological site allows breathtaking views from the top of the world's third-largest pyramid 'Piramide del Sol'. The summit of the 'Piramide de la Luna' is just as impressive because you have the whole abandoned city under your eyes. Quite a different daytrip is Coyoacan, where I enter Leon Trotsky's last residence (his desk where he was murdered with an ice pick is still on display). A nightlife visit to the glossy Zona Rosa district is a must on Friday night: crowded bars, ear-splitting music and extravagant Salsa dancing are on the pricey entertainment menu.

On the 10th June I decide I had enough though and take a second-class overnight bus to Acapulco with the very unshy Jesus Santiago, a crazy, young soldier on military leave, who obliges me to stay at his family's home up the hills in the Acapulco slums. After a nap on a mat Jesus shows me a small river and the site of his future house from where you have a nice view on the Bahia de Acapulco. After a chicken lunch we take a noisy disco bus to Playa Cellulite, where we sit on a rock, while Jesus, who claims to be an artist, draws the Isla de la Roqueta on a plastic plate. At 5 pm already he drags me to the matinee of a nightclub, where we meet some of his friends. Hundreds of excited Mexicans dance to the loud techno music in a dark concert hall. At 8 pm there is even a teenage-friendly striptease show. With a group of 8 Mexicans we try some dizzying rides in the Parque Papagayo until it starts to rain. I have to sleep in a dirty hut in the company of many hungry mosquitoes. The next day I leave the shag and check in for 50 Peso at the slightly better Casa de Huespedes Aries on 'La Quebrada' near the cliffs where the famous clavadistas jump from a height of 25 meters into a narrow channel. I use all my negotiation skills to try to convince a clavadista to let me jump as well, but instead he sends me to their training pool where I finally dive from 10 meters. Soon after there is a thunderstorm. Next day Marcello and Hermann join me for a swim at Playa Icacos, but again St Peter is opening the gates of the sky and we almost have to paddle back to the hotel. Completely soaked I get on my night bus to Puerto Escondido, a lovely little beach village.

Have you ever heard of 'Montezuma's revenge'? Well it stroke me in that bus and it was a nightmare as I had to make the driver stop twice so that I could relieve my poor belly in the pouring rain to end the abdominal cramps. After a rest at the relaxing Hotel Mayflower (5 USD/dorm) I write a scene for a play called "Model". Then I go running on the beach with David (a mad Aussi) and Christian (DK). The fruit juice shop at the corner is THE place to be and the cheapest Spaghettis are served at Alicia's (10 Peso = 1 USD). Next day I do even less and consequently I deserve a fish at Alicia's for (20 Peso).

Next destination is the peaceful colonial town Oaxaca. When Hili (my Swiss travel companion) and I arrive it's raining. Again! I check in at Magic Hostel (50 Peso) and immediately organise a trip to the ancient Zapotec capital Monte Alban with a Norwegian journalist, Lisa (UK) and some Swedish girls. The well maintained site on a flattened hilltop overlooking the surrounding valleys is an interesting example of how the ruling priests and nobles kept some 30000 people in a state of voluntary domination by presenting the advanced mathematical and astronomical skills of the elite as magical power. After some cheap chicken with mole (kind of chocolate sauce) at the market we explore the area around the pleasant Zocalo. That night we all go for Salsa Dancing at a local bar and try some Mezcal. Next morning I have fever and have to stay in the dormitory until the evening when a tall curious Swiss guy named Silvan and his Mexican friend Ricardo talk me out of bed to have some ice-cream. Silvan, who is a tank commander and electro mechanic, plans to travel during 2 years. After a heavy breakfast at the market we drive to the small ruins in Mitla where I buy a light woven T-shirt (30 Peso) from an old lady. We wait for a collectivo Jeep to go swimming at the unreal Hierve el Agua in the mountains where we splash around in natural basins surrounded by big white rock formations looking like frozen waterfalls. After a small restaurant dilemma and a consequent force-march to our overnight bus to Tuxtla in Chiapas, Ricardo would not speak to us anymore and disappears the next morning without "adios" while we deposit our backpacks at a luggage storage in the bus terminal. Silvan cannot believe it. We have breakfast with a French couple on honeymoon and catch a bus to the Canon del Sumidero where we hire a speedboat together with Dote, Klaus (DK) and a Mexican family. We feel like flying on our downstream penetration into the gigantic jungle-covered canyon whose vertical walls tower up to 1200 meters on each side of the river. We see wonderful waterfalls, many birds and some lazy crocodiles.

The same afternoon we manage to arrive in mountainous San Christobal de Las Casas, a lovely town that had been stormed by the Zapatistas in 1994. Posada Margarita is ok for 50 Peso. After the original movie "Stigmata" we move to the Blue bar where I have an interesting conversation about social constructivism with a psychology student. For 70 Peso we sign up for a muddy horse riding excursion to one of the nearby Tzotzil (Mayan descendants) highland villages San Juan Chamula, where you can witness some strange ceremonial rituals (and sacrifices) in a desecrated church. Our 'despacio' (=slow) guide does not appreciate our gallop efforts and we curse the bloody horses during several days because we almost cannot walk anymore. We still visit Na Bolom, the house of a Danish archaeologist dedicated to the Lacandon Indians.

At 8 am we meet Eleanor (UK) in our bus to Palenque. We check in at the exotic Cabanas Rakshita (30 Peso) located in the middle of the jungle and then we enter the remote Mayan archaeological zone of Palenque (30 Peso). The wonderful preserved temple structures are enchanting and the lush green jungle setting creates a mythical atmosphere. Later we escort Eleanor to her bus and then we have trouble finding our way back through the dark forest.

We decide to spend the next day in Campeche (6 hours/125 Peso). It's an old colonial town with little, colourful houses surrounded by fortifications (balluartes), which had been erected as a defence against pirate attacks. For dinner we have tasty fish in banana leaf and then we relax on the Parque Principal with a weird Slovenian geographer.

Next day we arrive in Merida (Yucatan) at the friendly, but hot and mosquito infested Nomad Hostel (65 Peso). Silvan falls ill (fever, throwing up and he shits in his pants during the night), so I do laundry, shop at the market, have a haircut (2 USD) and rest on the historic Plaza Mayor. At night I share a pizza with Canon, a guy who gathers data for the new Let's Go guidebook. I need the whole morning to get to the overpriced (75 Peso) Uxmal archaeological site. I meet a German-speaking Mennonite, selling cheese in one of the chicken busses. The deserted, well preserved ruins are fantastic though and the views from the Gran Piramide and the eroded, lizard-guarded Templo del Sul are excellent. Together with two Italians I charter a minibus back to Merida where we have a late lunch at the market. At the hostel Silvan is again fit enough to enjoy the advantages of a digital 100-channel satellite TV system: Discovery Channel until 2 am.

Chichen Itza, the most famous Mayan ruins can be admired for free on Sundays. We fight our way through the hordes of tourists to climb up the 25 meters of the central El Castillo, where we meet again the Slovenian. Other attractions include the circular Observatory, the Sacred Cenote (a scary waterhole), the Pelota stadium and the steam bath, behind the Grupo de las Mil Columnas (resembling a Greek temple). We spend the night in Valladolid, where we meet a Swedish couple. After the luxury breakfast buffet (35 Peso) in the windy Hotel Maria de la Luz, we take a taxi to one of the famous Cenotes. We descend into the limestone cave and swim in the fresh, clear waterhole amidst stalactites and root systems hanging from the above trees, while little, curious fishes constantly try to taste if we are comestible.

We eventually have to take a bus to Cancun, the tourist Mecca on the north-eastern tip of the Yucatan peninsula. These Caribbean beaches with turquoise waters and unique, white "air-conditioned" sand have attracted in the last 30 years flocks of ambitious investors, who by now provide every imaginable tourism service as long as you're willing to pay for it. The result: over 15 km of luxury resort hotels, fast food chains, car rentals, travel agencies, theme bars and extremely overpriced night-clubs and restaurants. The advantage: We can easily book a cheap flight to La Habana, the capital of Cuba (175 USD flight + 15 USD Visa). Together with the not very talkative Tim (he trades hammocks) we share a tiny room at Hotel Hermanas; make a dramatic 2-hour attempt to exchange Silvan's defect camera; and (on recommendation of some travellers) buy some canned food (to guarantee our survival in Cuba). Then the big day has arrived. But before we board the Cubana plane, Cancun airport officials still manage to rip us off with a 20 USD departure tax and 18 USD for the Mexican 'tarjeta de tourista'.

4. Cuba Libre

The Coca-Cola-free 'communist heaven', where the rum is flowing (6th producer of sugar) and where cigars have evolved into a revolutionary symbol, bravely defends its position as the world's 15th largest island, despite successive efforts of its northern neighbour to invade (1961: Bay of Pigs), poison (contaminate plantations) or destabilise and isolate (by reinforcing its embargo with the questionable Helms-Burton Act) president Fidel Castro's 'patria'.

On the 27th June I land with Silvan, Tim and Dunia at the surprisingly modern Jose Marti airport, where pushy government officials insist that we book an expensive hotel. We flee from the airport zone and stop a taxi that drops us for 12 USD in the centre of La Habana. We pass the impressive Plaza de la Revolucion, with its 142m high Memorial Marti. We check in for 5 USD each at the 'casa particular' of the very helpful and friendly J**. He gives us background information about the economy (average salary = 10 USD a month; 1 USD = 20 Pesos = 200 Centavos); people's daily live (families are given by the state a limited amount of goods recorded in a little booklet called "libretto"); and introduces us to an unexpected backyard economy, mostly characterised by little, hardly recognisable one-product shops, that advertise goods such as coffee or mango juice (each 1 Peso = 0,05 USD), half a baguette with mayonnaise (0,25 USD) or a paper-box with rice and chicken (1 USD) on a hand-written card outside little, steel-barred windows. Another product that proves useful and that will constitute a major part of our diet, is a small, greasy pizza (5 Peso = 0,25 USD), that we improve with our canned tuna. You can wash it down with the cold soda alternative TIKOLA.

We watch the sunset at the 8km long Malecon (waterfront promenade), where the many great colonial buildings are desperately waiting for renovation. The atmosphere of long forgotten glamour is emphasised by some lonely, choking old-timers that cruise around the narrow streets, where the mostly black inhabitants sit to have a chat with their neighbours and smile at the passing tourists. I landed 40 years back in time. We have to shake many hands and visit one of the houses, where the paint is peeling off the walls. After paying some overpriced photocopies (due to a misunderstanding between Cents and Centavos), I visit the Museo de la Revolucion and the Pavillon Granma together with Silvan and Tim. We parade along the Prado towards the marble Capitolio Nacional, an improved copy of the White House in Washington. That night, the Elian Gonzales soap opera (an uninteresting 'fait divers' escalating into a political drama) comes to an end: the unfortunate child finally lands in Cuba. In search of a hypothetical welcome-party, we walk until the famous Hotel Nacional.

The next day, the comfortable tourist bus Via Azul (25 USD for 6 hours) drops us off in Trinidad (Unesco WH). M**, who is already waiting with a welcome poster displaying our names, offers us a nice, clean room with hot shower for 5 USD/person (+ breakfast). We accomplish our tour of the peaceful city with its many museums and churches (e.g. Alexander Von Humboldt's residence) and then we stuff ourselves with camarones (shrimps). The next day we rent an old Chinese bicycle (3 USD) and race down the 18km to the 'Peninsula de Ancon'. We borrow the swimming pool of the Hotel Ancon, where we meet the 2 Swiss girls Monica and Sabine. For lunch a local family prepares us an excellent Lobster menu for 6 USD. We cycle to the 'Valle de los Ingenios' to take a look at the abandoned sugar mills. Back in Trinidad we enjoy a local Salsa bar. In the morning we organise some illegal horseback riding with the two Swiss girls. Unfortunately we have to flee from the police (through thorn bushes along a narrow path). We have 'souvenirs' for the next 2 weeks. That night I participate in a noisy exotic cavalcade and its following fiesta, ending the Sanjuanero carnival.

The next morning Silvan and I hitchhike to Cienfuegos where we meet Robert, a local guide, who shows us around the town with its peaceful plaza and many horse carts. The next morning I go for an interesting wreck-dive with Omar at Rancho Luna. Using several dirt-cheap collectivo taxis (e.g. 1954 Pontiac Eight), we eventually approach Santa Clara. With our spare money we order 5 lobsters (Yes, for 2 people!) for the incredible price of 10 USD. To celebrate the 4th July we visit the impressive 'Monumento Ernesto Che Guevara' and his mausoleum. Then we run through the 'Boulevard' and hop on a horse cart (1 Peso = 0,05 USD) that carries us with our backpacks to the taxi terminal (11 USD for the 3 hour drive to La Habana). Before dawn we attack the lovely Habana Viejo tour (around Plaza de Armas) and then, for the last time, we watch the sun disappear into the Straits of Florida. At 5 a.m. we push ourselves into the crammed semi-trailer Camello bus M2 (20 Centavos = 0.01 USD) that drops us off 2 km from the airport half an hour later. Here awaits us an exaggerated 20 USD airport tax and 30 USD handling fee, that we refuse to pay, because several officials had previously confirmed that it's free of charge to modify the departure date. In the end we are allowed to board the plane and one hour later the whistling Ilushin 62M lands us safely in Cancun.

5. Adios Mexico

In the meantime in Mexico, the 'amigos de Fox' have elected their Vincente as the new president, provoking shock waves throughout the old PRI establishment. Unwilling to pay an outrageous 12 USD for a shuttle bus from the thieving Cancun airport, we prefer to hitchhike (20 minutes) to the ferry terminal. A 3 times 750 HP (PS) jet-engine speedboat hovers us to the little tropical Isla Mujeres, where we rest for 2 days at basic Poc Na Hostel (39 Peso/dormitory). I play with fishes in the hot turquoise waters, do push-ups on the sandy beach (8 * 25 after 6 weeks of daily practice) and chat with fellow travellers.

For Silvan's birthday we arrive in Tulum and risk our nightly sleep at the wooden mosquito-infested Cabanas El Mirador (130 P). The fortified Mayan ruins of the 'City of Dawn' are perched on a small cliff and dominate a beautiful white, sandy beach. Many fat lizards enjoy the sun around the rocks of the partly rebuilt structures. Unfortunately as well Tulum has paid its tribute to tourism: a bottle of water costs 2 USD in the little village nearby. We drink a Margarita instead and dine some dry cookies in our candle-lit hut on the beach, where the peace is only disturbed by a crab, a jumping lizard and hungry mozzies. Before sunrise we swim already in the refreshing sea. After several hours in our bus to Chetumal on the Belizean border, it is with mixed feelings that we say 'adios' to the Estados Unidos Mexicanos.

6. BELIZE it, or not!

Flanked by the world's second largest barrier reef and populated mainly by easy-going black Creole, who inhabit an exotic country spoilt by Mother Nature, Belize makes an ideal travellers' destination. Surprisingly though, mass tourism is not yet developed, perhaps because of the existence of merely 2 paved roads. After an interesting bus ride, I arrive with Silvan and the two Australians, Brad and Antony, in the shabby former capital Belize City. We check in at the friendly Chinese Hotel Downtown (12 Belize Dollar = 6 USD/person). The next morning a speedboat (15 Belize Dollar) flies us direction paradise. Caye Caulker is a little topical island with mangroves and palm trees, surrounded by coral reefs that shine through the shallow, extremely clear water. Perfect for snorkelling. On a little boat (3-hour excursion for 12 USD) we are guided through a natural aquarium closer to the reef. As we stop, I suddenly notice that dozens of big dark shadows are circling around the boat. We put on our masks and jump into the temperate water. In disbelief I recognise huge stingrays and elegant nurse sharks gliding in chaotic formations through their strange liquid environment. We stare at the gracious creatures that perform their aquatic ballet in front of our eyes. At the two other stops we snorkel around beautiful coral, moray eels and even an angry octopus. Back at our nice Hotel Miramar (5 USD/person) we meet Nicole who works on a waste management project that shall turn the local dump (that we visit with her) into an energy producing factory. For a change we organise some lobster and join a party at Sandbox.

On the 11th July an old, jungle-music-playing school bus drives us to the village-like capital Belmopan and then to San Ignacio in the Mountain Pine Ridge. The always smiling 'rasta-man' David guides us to his thatched huts, located on a Mayan site across a river in the jungle. He cooks us some tasty food while we explore the surrounding ruins. In the morning we put our 2 canoes on the water and row down 12 km on the Macal River. We jump from a big boulder (8 m), visit a waterfall and fight a nasty battle, using rotten figs (floating in the water) as projectiles, against our two mates from Australia. Back in San Ignacio we board a little bus to the border town of Benque Viejo. For the last kilometres we have to hire a taxi, because of a local transportation lobby that would otherwise lose a lucrative business. After fighting off the moneychangers at the border, we enter the noman's land between Belize and Guatemala.

7. Guatemala

Four years after the 4-decades-long civil war, Guatemala is hoping for a better future. In the meantime the poor mountainous country with its rich Mayan history is waiting for investors. Due to a big social gap between wealthy and poor, the question is who of the 11 Mio Guatemalans will benefit from a positive economic evolution. Antony, Brad, Silvan and myself enter the country through Melchor de Mencos. A mental bus driver (we almost land in a bush!) eventually drops us unharmed in chaotic Santa Elena. A screaming monkey guards our shabby Hotel Fiesta.

At 5 am we take a minibus to Tikal. 1000 years after the mysterious disappearance of the Mayan Empire we rediscover their overwhelming temple structures in a dense, misty forest setting surrounded by a symphony of chanting frogs, exotic birds, insects and howling monkeys. The national park Tikal holds many hidden temples that tower up to 64 m above the dense jungle canopy. In the Mundo Perdido complex I climb the steep impressive pyramid until I break through the verdant surface of an endless green sea of vegetation from where the distant white ruins of the other temples emerge like marble gravestones, forever reminding us of a long lost civilisation.

In the afternoon we visit Flores, a scenic island-town, and cool down in the Lago de Peten Itza, while one of the friendly laundry ladies overestimates the resistance of my shirt (resulting in an unaesthetic hole). One day later we catch an old bus to Poptun and then get a Taxi to Finca Ixobel, a relaxing animal ranch, where many travellers lose themselves to the nice surroundings and the terrific dinner buffet. We hang our hammocks inside an open hut that we share with an English doctor (Hamish) who just survived a boat accident in Honduras. The next morning a band of cheerful adventurers marches during 2 hours through the forest before descending into a dark river cave and bravely following the smiling guide into the icy water. We climb along the cutting rocks until the water becomes too deep. The guide lights several effective candles along the way. Near a waterfall we jump 3 meters into a dark pool. I wonder how my Chinese flashlight survived this torture. After an excessive buffet Megan and Andrea teach us a card trick and then we light a bonfire.

On Sunday morning we are picked up by a crazy bus driver, who believes to steer a racing car. At Rio Dulce we hire a water taxi (10 USD) with a young American couple and Hunter Wesson Choctaw to go downstream through a nature reserve, where we can swim in sulphurous hot springs. We debark in Livingston, a little Caribbean port town on the Gulf of Honduras, inhabited by black Garifuna and surrounded by palm trees, making it the perfect location for a new pirate movie. We try the coconut-flavoured seafood dishes (Tapado).

Another boat brings us the next day to the shabby Puerto Barrios, from where we find a bus heading to Guatemala City. A taxi, exhibiting bullet-holes in its windshield, slowly advances us through this polluted, traffic-jammed capital. We manage to arrive in the evening in picturesque but square Antigua, with its earthquake-plagued churches, surrounded by a maze of colourful colonial houses that fail to hide a horizon, dominated by 3 cone-shaped volcanoes. We enjoy our stay at the friendly Pension Eva (35 Q / 1 USD = 7,5 Quetzal), housing a blue-eyed Toucan and we meet again our Australian friends at Rick's. For 5 USD (Don't pay more!) we climb the active volcano Pacaya with the very sympathetic couple Ruth and Geoffrey. While standing inside toxic fumes on top of the mountain and peering inside the hot crater in search of red glowing magma, I feel like a cosmonaut exploring a hostile planet.

Our next destination is the enjoyable, well-developed Panajachel on the scenic Lago de Atitlan, formed by awesome volcanoes. Ruth finds us the best accommodation (for only 25 Quetzal/room) in a little boxing school with an inviting patio, where we can do our exercises at 7 am every morning. We relax several days on the terraces of the charming restaurants, ordering a lot of good food and meeting many nice people (like Desso and Joldert and again our mates Brad and Antony). Best breakfast is at Pana Arte (Campesino!). Favourite meal: Spaghetti + garlic bread + Coke + excellent coffee for 15 Q (=2 USD) at Pana Rock. We do some day trips with a boat to the villages Santiago and San Pedro. Two of our female friends get robbed on top of Volcano Atitlan. A complete body-check by the gunman and a nervous fellow with a machete is inclusive, but they negotiate to keep their passport. Despite the best intentions a mysterious curse prevents us every day from seeing the apparently wonderful sunset on the lake.

Sunday is market day in Chichicastenango. We experience several ultra-rapid transfers from one crowded chicken-bus to the next: on exit the backpacks of the confused tourists are already tied to the roof of the connection bus and the new driver furiously horns at his slow passengers. I buy a T-shirt (25 Q) at the traditional market and eat delicious chicken at a popular food stall. We stay for 40 Q on the roof of a basic no-name hotel and we have to say farewell to our nice friends Ruth and Geoffrey.

After a strenuous travel day with several very uncomfortable busses we finally arrive in the remote traditional village Todos Santos, high up in the Cuchumatan mountain range. The Mam speaking Mayan descendants all wear colourful hand-made dresses and dwell in little wooden huts surrounded each by a farmer's collection of dogs, chicken and maize parcels. Little Christina shows us the nearby sacred ruins and invites us to stay at her family's guestroom for 8 Quetzal/day. The dirty shed gets freezing cold at night and at 5 am we hear the screaming voice of a woman performing a lament chant in memory of a recently deceased family member. 6 am is an appropriate time for a dog fight and some inconclusive experiments with the diesel generator. At 7 am the place transforms into a playground for the local children. The water from the well is icy (you don't even want to know about the toilet) and we think about fleeing from this underdeveloped aggregation of torture instruments. In a mindless act of folly we decide instead to sell our souls to a little Spanish school coached by the very social and friendly Rebecca. That's how we find ourselves back sitting in a pleasant classroom with our sympathetic teachers Lydia and Antelmo every day from 2 to 7 pm during one week. Each day I wake up at dusk shivering in my sleeping bag that protects me from the smelly covers, which hide some wooden planks serving as my bed. After some days I have fleas. Tree times a day my family prepares me overcooked noodles with tasteless tortillas (+ 1 egg), that I wash down with an appalling coffee broth next to an unhygienic self-made stove. Object for animosities between the cat, the dog Tarzan and several stupid chickens are undesired food pieces (like eggshells, pebbles, bones or carbonated firewood) that the other family members simply spit on the uneven dirt floor. Twice a week people try to wash themselves inside their chimney-resembling Chuj, an extremely hot steam bath in a tiny fire-heated hut, where you mix boiling and icy water in a bowl before splashing it over your cremating body and where you crawl out from, feeling like a smoked salmon. After dark I need my flashlight to find my way home through muddy backyard paths and I collect stones to throw after the aggressive territorial dogs. We experience interesting para-scholar activities: a cooking class with Rosa (where we make tortillas); a conference about the development of the village, retracing evolutionary steps of civilisations as described in my momentary favourite book 'Guns, Germs and Steel' by Jared Diamond); a great hike to La Torre (the 3800 m top of the Cuchumatanes); party at the local bar (we encounter the Israeli couple Gaby & Mikaela and meet again Marcello & Herman); the colourful market day (and consecutive fiesta during which the local men get hammered and scream in the streets until long after midnight); and a final farewell dinner at Tzoltin (with Rebecca and Kathrin).

On Monday 31st July we escape with the 6:30 am bus to Huehuetenango and in the afternoon we are back to civilisation in our boxing school in beloved Panajachel. We stay some days to get rid of our fleas, get our clothes disinfected, readapt our stomachs to serious food (we find an excellent comedor serving 8-Quetzales carnivore meat), write, and relax with new companions including some Israelis, Nora (CH) and a group of Austrians. We pass in Antigua to use the computer and we are happy to meet our mates Brad and Antony. We watch 'Lola rennt' and pass at Ricky's.

The next morning we get a bus to the usually avoided Guatemala City. We carry our backpacks through endless, noisy streets in Zona 1 to take a look at the solitary buildings around the unimpressive Plaza Mayor. While waiting in a bank we observe a man who suddenly presents a large gun and hands it over to the heavily armed guard at the entrance. The guard exchanges it for a number-tag after locking it away in a drawer. Our next bus, which is appropriately decorated with bullet holes, drops us in the crime-evoking capital San Salvador.

8. War in Salvador

Although the civil war is over, poor El Salvador is not yet the most peaceful place to visit. From 1980 to 1992 about 75000 people were murdered with the 6 billion USD support from the USA (cost/kill ratio = 80000 USD). This unstable country, whose pillaging guerrillas and governmental death squads got entangled in a cold war scheme provoked by extreme social differences, has now to find a new identity.

We negotiate a pickup that drops us for 15 Colon (1 USD = 9 Colon) at the rundown Hotel International Custodio (40 Colon) near the Mercado Ex-Cuartel. Our driver tries to discourage us from nightly promenades, but we have imperatively to find some dinner. While exploring the lively streets, we conclude that San Salvador is not as terrible as we expected. The next morning Reto (CH) joins us for breakfast at the market (Sandwich +2 coffee for 10 Colon) and then we hop on a local bus that drives us up the scenic road to the formidable rocks of Puerta del Diablo, a former execution point and stunning lookout. We spend the afternoon in the shopping district on the Boulevard de los Heroes and then taste filled Pupul (+ best Cappuccino) while waiting for the preparing thunderstorm. A blinding light followed by an ear-splitting explosion in the patio of our hotel almost makes my heart stop. Slowly recovering from our shock, we realise that lightning just struck our hotel and has ripped off the antenna from the roof of our building. That evening while sitting in a rough bar to discuss our hair-rising experience, we suddenly hear again several sharp explosions in the street. A young man is lying facedown in the rain, his chewing gum has fallen out of his mouth and he's bleeding from a wound under his arm. A gunman has pumped 6 bullets into his body. We wait pensively during 10 minutes next to the corpse. Some pedestrians stop shortly to take a quick look at the massacre. One of the few bystanders comments in a low consoling voice "Fue un hombre malo!" ("It was a bad man", suggesting gang-membership), as if to remove the tragedy of the event and adds casually that this happens here every day. Three police cars eventually arrive. That night we hear many more explosions echoing through the rain and we have the impression that we landed in a war zone.

On the 6th August, we join a festive crowd for a religious service held outside the decorated cathedral, ending the festival of El Salvador del Mundo. A crowded chicken-bus drives us over a narrow, barely paved road high up into the northern mountains until we arrive many hours later in the lonely, dusty village San Ignacio near the Honduran Border.

9. Diving in Honduras

In El Poy we pay our exaggerated 10 USD 'entrance fee' for Honduras and continue our roller-coaster journey through endless mountain scenery. That day we only get as far as Santa Rosa de Copa, a friendly village with a pizzeria, a dirty hospedaje and fortunately an ATM (1 USD = 15 Lempiras) - because we have run out of cash. On the 7th August we finally arrive in Copan Ruinas, where we meet again Gudula and her boyfriend Thomas in the cheap Posada Honduras. We immediately walk to the Copan Archaeological Site where we are taken aback by a 10 USD admission fee. We are welcomed at the gate by many playful parrots. The medium sized Mayan temples are accompanied by richly decorated stelae. I am disappointed though that most structures are either replicas or covered under some plastic protection (e.g. Hieroglyphic stairway). At the end of the last millennium the Copan civilisation collapsed because of deforestation and ecological destruction. Is there perhaps something we should eventually learn?

The next morning we change bus in San Pedro de Sula (flat tire) and get to La Ceiba on the Caribbean Sea, where the most interesting thing I do is going to the hairdresser. This part of Honduras had been terribly hit by hurricane Mitch in November 1998. Rotterdam Hotel is ok though. One day later we board a modern boat to Utila, the backpacker's choice for visiting the attractive Bay Islands. The flat island is famous for its cheap diving (10 dives for 120 USD) and its nasty sand flies. We select Parrot's out of the wide range of dive shops available. Our room (30 Lemps = 2 USD) is great, but just next to the inappropriately named Tranquilo bar. 5 days are easily spent in Utila. I do some lovely high-visibility coral wall dives with Karl and George (+ night dive); read a book about reality filters in society systems; meet nice people (like Silke and Jean); eat cheap onion and bean burritos (5 Lemps) and seafood (jummy shark steak); attend the reopening of the Bar in the Bush; and drink rum and Coke (12 Lemps) with Thomas while listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers at the excellent Coco Loco bar.

On the 14th August many people are throwing up on our ferry to the mainland because of the rough sea. Back at the bus terminal in La Ceiba we are told that it's impossible to leave town because of a strike. We manage though to arrive in little Tela by walking over the blocked bridge. At 7:30 the next morning we finally get a bus via El Progreso to the dirty capital Tegucigalpa. The sightseeing tour of the sightless city is rapidly done so we decide to go to a local cinema to watch the quite patriotic 'Patriot'. We feel uneasy walking back at night through the poor, unsafe Comayaguela market district. At 6:30 am we take a taxi to the first bus station. Instead of sponsoring the Tica direct bus, we save 14 USD by using consecutive small buses that bring us to Danli, El Paraiso and Las Manos on the border of Nicaragua.

10. Nicaragua

After the Sandinistas (FSLN) successfully liberated Nicaragua from the tyrannical Samoza dynasty in 1979, they soon faced a new enemy: the CIA-supported counter-revolutionaries (Contras) destabilised Nicaragua until the Irangate scandal finally ended US aid. The over 4 million people of this extremely impoverished country are now struggling to set foot in the world economy.

My journey continues through Ocotal and Esteli and I am thankful to arrive that evening at the chaotic bus station in the unattractive capital Managua. Yet another overcrowded local bus drives Silvan and me through endless slum-like districts until our concern that we might be in a wrong bus proves to be a fact. We take a taxi to the unfriendly Bario Martha Quezada area and check in at the noisy, ready-to-demolish guesthouse Santos. As I am completely broke again I have to find an ATM the following morning. On our exploration tour I contemplate the shabby remains of what people dare to call their capital. The city spreads out along large empty boulevards, surrounded by rubbish-covered vacant land and a collection of rundown buildings and ugly ruins. The central Plaza de la Republica holds the dark remains of the old cathedral (they are not ashamed to ask for an entrance fee) and the Palacio Nacional, all close to the terminally polluted Lago de Managua. The Interconti is a prominent landmark and has an ATM nearby (1 USD = 13 Cordoba). After our stop at the Metrocentro shopping mall we flee to Granada (1h) where we stay at Central Hospedaje for 30 Cordoba.

The oldest Spanish city on the shore of Lago de Nicaragua, with its nicely restored colonial architecture and its many fine churches, presents a pleasant contrast to the capital. We appreciate the absence of traffic on the clean cobblestone streets and the enjoyable tranquil atmosphere of Parque Colon. Our hotel has a cheap all-you-can-eat offer and coffee is free. On Saturday morning 6 am we wake up because somebody is counting metal coins. A good reason to take the ferry the same day and risk the 4-hour trip to the largest lake island in the world, Isla de Ometepe.

The island is located in the Lago de Nicaragua that is home to 3-meter long freshwater sharks. It is shaped like a figure of 8 with two monster volcanoes disappearing in the clouds. On board we meet Christopher Johnson (alias Senor Cristobal Juanhijo), who has been travelling for the last 3 years. From our landing point a truck drives us 5 km to the little town Altagracia, where we find accommodations at the spider-infested Hotel Central for 35 Cordobas. As it is Saturday night we enter a little discotheque, but prefer to leave soon because some fights start and bottles are flying around. The next morning we hop on a school bus for Moyogalpa where we meet Tina. We find a room at a no-name hostel and rent 4 bicycles to ride to Charco Verde. We climb a hill from where we have a nice view on both volcanoes. Furthermore I manage to fall with my bicycle onto some barbed wire (cutting my arm). Then, swimming in the lake we try a new butterfly style called 'drowning moth' and we pass by a local bullfight demonstration. We go early to bed as we plan to get a bus at 4 am for climbing Volcan Madera. The house owner wakes us up at 2:15 am already and as it is still raining some hours later we decide instead to leave the island with the 6 am ferry to San Jorge. Chris, Silvan and I arrive the same morning at the border crossing in Penas Blancas. We are forced to pay a municipal tax just to access the immigration office where we get our stamps and pay our exit fee. Only now we can walk into Costa Rica, whose Nicaraguan border resembles a huge parking lot for trucks.

11. Costa Rica

Our bus drives us down the Interamericana past some beautiful forest scenery and we get our first green impressions about this wonderful country that I would qualify as being a huge national park. In the late afternoon we arrive in the tiny Quaker town Monteverde, where we are assaulted by hustlers praising their hotels. For 4 USD per person (1 USD = 310 Colones) Chris, Susan (CH), Silvan and I check in at the excellent Camino Verde, where we regularly use the kitchen. At the bakery at 6:30 the next morning we meet our self-assured feminist guide Deborah, who worked as an undercover cop against drug cartels in Colombia. She gives us an idea about the astonishing complexity of a montane cloud forest in the Ecological Reserve Santa Elena. We get a glimpse of the fantastic interconnections between the thousands of species of trees, ferns, mosses, fungi, epiphytes, bromeliads and their pollinating, fertilising or simply digesting and seed-spreading fauna counterparts of hummingbirds, insects, frogs, monkeys and snakes. At the Finca Ecologica we meet a group of funny agoutis and leaf-cutter ants. On Wednesday we do the spectacular Sky Trek, a three-hour adventure tour (30 USD), where I slide through 10 different sections of the lush, misty jungle canopy, suspended on single cables, with a length between 30m and 430m, the ground being from 12m to 135m below my feet. Later on I admire the ultrarapid zigzag movements of the tiny, brightly coloured hummingbirds (using top-secret hummingbird technology). In the meantime we hear about a spectacular eruption of the Volcan Arenal. For us a clear sign to head to the closest village, Fortuna, the next morning.

The earth has spit out big clouds of hot ashes and our bus (3 USD) drives us through an unreal frozen environment of grey, silvery vegetation as we approach the threatening cloud-covered volcano around which TV reporters have already positioned their mobile broadcasting stations. We arrange a tour for that same evening with Rico, his Uruguayan friend Suraya, a Japanese and a Canadian. We explore the devastated area with our guide and try to imagine the destructive power of pyroclastic clouds. The slope of the Arenal is inhabited by frogs and poisonous Fer-de-lance snakes. As the night is approaching hundreds of fireflies guide us through the dark. Through the mist we pensively watch thin, red lava streams rapidly flowing down the outer rim of the caldera. The stars in the sky and the glow of the fireflies around us complete the dramatic light show. Some days later we read in the newspaper that an obviously curious 10-passenger plane succeeded to crash into the volcano.

The next day is spent on a scenic bus journey through mountainous terrain to the pleasant capital San Jose. I feel I am back in the civilised world as I stroll through the clean streets and well catered shops. I even find a Subway sandwich bar. In the showers of our hostel Tica Linda (3 USD), I almost electrocute myself, but I am fit again on Saturday night when Chris teaches Silvan and me the extremely funny Chicken game. The locals cannot believe it. Sylvia and Sarah bring us to the brilliant disco Infinito, where we dance until dawn. After too few hours of sleep we find a luxury bus to Puerto Limon and then a connection to Puerto Viejo, a relaxing surfer's hangout on the Caribbean Coast with Creole and Bribri influences. Hotel Puerto Viejo is relatively expensive though for 1800 Colon per person (= 6 USD). We walk through the hot sand and play 'drowning' in the strong waves. At 11:30 a local bus drives us through endless banana plantations to Bribri and the shabby Saxaola border town. We cross a wooden train bridge and buy a compulsory Red Cross exit stamp from the friendly immigration lady, who is delighted to examine each of our passport's Visas with an UV light to find hidden symbols and drawings. Finally we are allowed to proceed along the tracks to the train-station-like terra nullius (noman's land) of Panama.

12. Panama

Nicknamed 'the crossroads of the world', Panama is indeed the narrow land bridge connecting North and South America, and the Panama Canal is the famous passage between the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean. But, like on a real crossroad, on my way to the South I ironically have to travel on an east-west axis and move 100 km to the North again, just as the ships on their westbound route surprisingly sail from Northwest to Southeast through the canal. Who said that road planning was no rocket science? By the way, the Interamericana is interrupted and loses itself somewhere in the impassable Darien Gap.

There we are now, sitting half a day on our backpacks in Guabito, one of the shabbiest border villages I have passed, waiting for the hypothetical Chiquita Banana Train which could bring us closer to the coast. Before sunset we agree to ask a pickup to drive us to Changuinola where we can at least find a room to sleep (10 Balboas = 10 USD) and some spaghetti and ice cream to forget our deception. In the morning we take a bus to the port town Almirante from where we board our little ferry to the beautiful Bocas del Toro, a known nesting ground for sea turtles. The island group surrounds the Isla Bastimentos Marine Park. We admire the dense mangrove coasts and stroll around the wooden town on Isla Colon in search of accommodation. A young German reports about a special, remote sand beach where he and his two surfer friends play Robinson. So there we go over a badly deteriorated track past eroded coast formations, a dumpsite and jungle zones (we almost drive over a snake) to Playa Bluff. We put Chris' tent on the white beach and eat peanut butter sandwiches with the German dudes inside a little, self-made palm tree shelter as it starts to rain. The waves are very strong and I get caught inside several wild surfs. Inside the jungle we can even draw some muddy water which is jealously guarded by rapacious mosquitoes. We wake up at 1 am to walk along the beach in search of turtles, but obviously we are right out of season. Because of a protest march against the dump, we get a lift back to town. The tour of the other islands is quite expensive so we decide to return to the mainland. We have the impression that until now there are more things in Panama that we have NOT done than those, which we have actually done.

A reliable bus races us down to David, the capital of Chiriqui Province. The scenic road is even paved - perfect. But our goal is Boquete, the pretty, refreshing mountain town near the elevated volcano Baru. We check in at the friendly Hospedaje Paraiso where Silvan prepares us an excellent Spaghetti. In the morning on our tour of the local coffee factory, we boost our caffeine levels to new heights. Useful, as we part on a mini Odyssey to some out-of-the-way hot springs. The walk through the rain is well worth it, and we are rewarded with some sublime, misty pools in the middle of the forest and a dip in a shallow, wild river. The return is chilly though, so we beg the owner of a lorry (ready for the scrap heap) to drive us home for a couple of dollars.

At 11 am the next day we manage to get a direct bus from David to Panama City. We are all excited to cross the Bridge of the Americas, majestically spanning over the Panama Canal. The city seems very clean and orderly with many tasteful buildings hiding behind trimmed lawns and leafy trees. Even the huge, new bus station appears more like an international airport. Our bus 'pilot' would agree. But as soon as we enter the centre of town along Avenida Central the chaos becomes tangible: traffic, noise, dilapidated houses, prostitutes, shabby casinos and many shops offering discounted electronics, shoes and clothes. Gunmen protect the entrances to fast food restaurants and other commerce against beggars and ambulant salesmen. We traverse the pedestrian street to San Felipe, the historic district. Many of the charming colonial buildings are almost falling apart. And so does our previously illustrious Hotel Central (10 USD). While sitting on the bed, two of its legs pierce through the rotten wood on the floor. We decide to sleep exclusively on the mattress. By the way, our window can only be opened from outside, but as the whole 'Casco Viejo' area is not really reputed for its extreme safety, we are slightly worried. With a little bit of renovation the district around Plaza de la Independencia would become an inviting shopping and dining place with charming street cafes around the interesting colonial buildings. I have trouble to get many organisational things done in a short time: flight tickets to Colombia, post office, picture processing, photocopies, shopping for clothes and new sandals, and find a boat to get a ride across the canal. On Saturday night we intend to go to the famous Senor Frog, but as we forgot our passport, we can not enter. The train that we are supposed to take on Sunday morning stopped its services. Both attempts to find a boat at the Balboa Yacht Club are not successful and there are no cheap flight tickets out of this country. When we find ourselves back in the wrong film at a cinema that evening, we are discouraged to make any further plans. We manage nevertheless to visit the impressive Miraflores Locks. From our viewing platform we observe how 4 locomotives drag a huge cargo ship inside the comparably narrow channel of the lock. In the Canal Zone the captain must transfer his command to a trained pilot. Although ships save 7800 miles by using the canal, the transit fee amounts to an average of 30000 USD. Later in the Summit Zoo we admire the gigantic Harpy Eagles and curious parrots and toucans.

A German, who has been living with his two young daughters on a boat for 7 years, advises us to sign up as crewmembers on a Yacht at Pedro Miguel Boat Club. Thankful to escape from our hotel, we hop on a kamikaze bus to Pedro Miguel where we arrive in the evening. We pass several deserted military bases. The commodore Craig Owings, who is bitterly complaining about the American withdrawal from the Canal Zone and who is sceptical about the future of the region, is kind enough to let us camp next to the well-equipped clubhouse. There are hot showers, a common room with a kitchen, TV, a library and even Internet access. The grounds are protected by electric fence, nightly poisonous treatments against mosquitoes and a heart-stopping alarm system. This place that we share with many Yachties will be our home for the next 3 days. The boat owners, who are anchoring here for several weeks, are very friendly and helpful. Always eager to explain us land rats what living on water is all about, they show us some wonderful catamarans and yachts, stuffed with the latest electronic equipment, such as navigation computer linked to the radar, sonar and GPS and powered by photovoltaic panels.

On the 7th September the big day has arrived: we sign up as linehandlers on a modern sailboat named 'Catmandu', owned by Glen, Linda and the shitty dog Ajax. Everybody is a bit nervous and the captain drinks many beers that day to be at he top of his concentration and support the expensive Panamanian advisor, who actually sleeps most of the time. It is truly a dramatic feeling to be inside the claustrophobic locks, floating behind one of the gigantic ocean-going vessels, while the water level is slowly rising like in an elevator. Although we are tied (with the recently taught knots) to a powerful towboat, we have to push against it several times with our full body weight to avoid damage to our hull. We pass the legendary Gaillard Cut and the artificial Lago Gatun before descending the triple locks near Gatun. I am sad to say goodbye to my good friend and travel companion Silvan who has a flight the next day. We anchor in Colon, where crime is a serious problem. With Christopher I sleep one uncomfortable night on deck, where we are only partly sheltered from the rain.

Now we need a lift to Colombia or Ecuador. We ask everywhere around the harbour, but it is hopeless. We are completely stuck. Moreover, after Clinton's recent visit in Colombia the whole region seems suddenly unstable and we are advised to avoid this dangerous country. Observers are expecting reactions from the guerrillas and the cocaine barons, because they are concerned about the Americans sponsoring the preparing drug war. We are desperate. While sitting with a jug of beer on the terrace of the Yacht Club, we are approached by Michael who offers to bring us within a week on his 10-passenger sailboat to Cartagena in northern Columbia for 150 USD. We obtain our Zarpe (permission to leave the port), get our exit stamps from the unfriendly immigration officer (now we are in limbo), buy provisions in Colon and take a bus heading towards Isla Grande, where a water taxi brings us on board. Captain Michael shows us around the large boat that we will share with him and his Colombian girlfriend Georgina for the next days. The elegant two-mast sailboat 'Explorer' exceeds all our expectations. It is well equipped with electronics and NavCom, freshwater generator (using reverse osmosis), solar panels, etc.

Chris and me share a little, comfortable bow cabin. We anchor for two more nights near Isla Grande. The next day we visit fortified Portobelo, a strategic port for the Spanish treasure fleet, that had been attacked repeatedly by pirates. Good-natured, but grumpy and choleric 'El Capitan' Michael sponsors a crash course in basic maritime knowledge and reveals some of the secrets about seafaring. Finally we set sail for the isolated San Blas Archipelago. The sea is quite calm and already in the afternoon we are surrounded by the unreal, heavenly San Blas, whose numerous tiny sand islands mainly hold coconut palms that are protected by the little, friendly Kuna Indians. We anchor at the Western Holandes Cays. While I explore the Waisaladup Coco Island, some Kunas are approaching with their canoe to sell us lobsters. The next day I go snorkelling with Chris, as the Cays are all encircled by colourful coral gardens and the crystal-clear water is extremely warm. We find a swim-through and encounter even a curious nurse shark. The days go by very fast. Georgina is a good cook and we always have something to do on the boat. The crew's tasks are handling the dinghy, cleaning the hull from seashells and weighing the anchor. During one day I have some fever, and an annoying rash is plaguing my legs and back for several days (probably provoked by a combination of heat and salt). I have time to read and write my travel report. On Tuesday we stop in Corazon de Jesus to buy short baguettes and tasty Coconuts. This two crowded islands are packed with basic huts and are connected by a long wooden bridge. The Kuna women wear traditional dresses and some have a dark line tattooed down their nose. The night before we arrive in Colombia, a threatening storm with dramatic lightning obliges us to organise shifts. From 3 am until sunrise I observe the consoles and regularly climb on deck where furious winds blow with 30 knots and thick raindrops hit like hail. It is hurricane season after all. In my fight against motion sickness I cling to ropes and holds because the boat rolls and pitches wildly. In the afternoon there is perfect weather again. We are greeted by dolphins before we enter the fortified bay in Cartagena.

13. Locombia

Colombia is indeed a crazy (=loco) country, largely controlled by rivalling guerrilla fractions and drug cartels, and governed by corrupt statesmen who do not have the financial means or political will to bring stability to the region. The conflict between marauding bandits, the remaining middle class and paramilitaries seems like a de facto civil war. Some of these armed forces (e.g. FARC) are well organised and better equipped than the government troops. They control major transit roads all throughout the country, rob cars and busses, kidnap wealthy people for ransom and threaten commerce and industry if they are not supported financially. The result is that people are scared to travel inside the country and entrepreneurs are discouraged to create new businesses. Those who are rich enough have since long fled the country or have at least exiled their families.

In Cartagena one could almost forget these problems. The fortified historical port town charms every visitor with its lovely, restored colonial buildings with picturesque balconies, churches, monuments and its festive, 16th century atmosphere. Little cafes revive the narrow streets and lively plazas. And most of all, it is relatively safe. At one of the many jewellers' captain Michael buys an emerald ring for Georgina. The rest of the day Chris and me have to wait for the delayed immigration officer. For the next few days we can stay with Georgina's friends in a cheap room with a mattress and powerful fan (3 USD). We always eat in the same restaurant: steak with rice and beans (2500 Peso = 1,25 USD) for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Delicious! At every street corner you find ambulant coffee sellers and many snacks are available everywhere. Unfortunately I have an annoying cough and throat hurt. That evening we have some Aguila beer in the street (1000 Peso = 0,5 USD), dance in Coyote bar and watch a fashion show at the expensive Plastilina. There is an excellent disco nearby with 5 different zones. On Saturday at 9:30 am we are scheduled for an organised tour to a mud volcano. Together with the Colombian tourists we climb the little cone and jump into the dirty pool. It is a weird feeling to be suspended in this refreshing, semi-liquid mass, and to be surrounded by grotesque mud statues. At a nearby beach we taste some crab and oysters. Clara regrets the political situation in Colombia. She belongs to the upper class and is well informed. Her brother was kidnapped by the guerrillas and consequently his family is ruined. She is very frightened but she cannot escape from her hometown Medellin, where many people are killed every day. She convinces me to change my travel plans and take a direct flight to Bogota. She says:" We have a paradise here, but it is in the wrong hands". I have trouble finding a plane and visit several travel agencies. At the local cinema (1 USD for both movies) Chris and I watch the miserable 'Perfect Storm' and the fantastic 'X-Men' (with the much more perfect 'Storm'). On Tuesday morning I finally have a flight to the capital Bogota.

In Santa Fe de Bogota I get a dormitory that I share with Nick (CH), Carry and Ian (both from South Africa) at the popular Platypus owned by Herman. I go for an intriguing walk along the busy Carrera 7 to the historic district. The friendly Candelaria area is close enough to the university for it to be lively all the time. The capital lies at an altitude of 2600 m so it can become quite cold at night. The famous Museo del Oro displays amazing treasures from different native cultures. The myth of El Dorado becomes alive here. That night I visit, with the people from my dorm, the strange but cosy Bar 121 run by Janet and Caroline. The two girls inform us how the young generation lives in Bogota, what to visit, what districts to avoid (many scary looking beggars and drug dealers), how to recognise the omnipresent fake money, and tell us about "Coca and Maria". The next day we all go together to Zipaquira to admire, some 100 meters under the earth, a gigantic, symmetrical cathedral with numerous symbolic details that has been carved out of the salt rock next to old salt mines. The next morning I try the cable car to the Monserrate, a religious mountaintop with a superb view of Bogota. I also order a falsified student card for discounts on flight tickets. Janet insists that we all join her that night for a party held at the 3-level discotheque Gothica. Colombia produces 80% of the world's cocaine and we notice that many people use drugs when they go out.

The next day I take an overnight bus to San Augustin (20 USD) together with Janet and Will. San Augustin is a little mountain village adapted to tourism. I stay with Janet, Mark (South Africa) and Wim (I met this funny Belgian fellow already twice in Panama) in the nice hotel El Jardin. After the exploration of the friendly village we meet in Rancho. The favourite music is 'Shakira'. The next day we visit the pre-Columbian archaeological zone (Unesco). Hundreds of mysterious stone statues and tombs are the only reminders of a long forgotten civilisation that our guide Carlos succeeds to resurrect briefly.

I wait the whole next morning for my uncomfortable minibus to Popayan (15000 Peso). They forgot to phone the bus company. Although it's only 100 km as the Condor flies, the trip takes 8 hours as I pass the spectacular, mountainous Purace National Park and I have to cross guerrilla territory. It doesn't take long before our bus is stopped by some well-armed soldiers. In the crowded bus I see concerned faces whispering "FARC". I quickly hide my money belt inside the torn plastic of my neighbour's seat. We all have to exit the bus. I have an adrenaline rush as a uniformed man urges us with his machine gun to line up on the side of a field. We wait, worried, while two soldiers enter the bus. I am the only tourist. Nobody speaks. They start checking identities now. I feel my heart pumping as my turn approaches. With moist palms I hand my passports to the bearded guerrillero. He asks me a few questions that I try to answer as briefly as possible. The minutes pass while everybody is feigning casual silence. A little eternity later the commander orders "Get in the bus!" and a sigh of relief escapes from the crowd. This time nobody had to pay anything, nobody was kidnapped and nobody shot.

In Popayan, another nice colonial town, I stay at Casa Familiar, where I have an appointment with Wim and Marc. I do a night walk through the historic quarter, as my two travel companions want to leave early in the morning. The Town Square had been taken over recently by the FARC. For 19000 Peso we get a direct bus to Ipiales.

Although the road trough the Andean mountains is beautiful, you are constantly nervous and worried about the guerrillas that have several outposts here. What we do not know yet is that a serious military offensive is taking place near the border of Ecuador. Ipiales being quite ugly and dangerous, we take a taxi to the nearby pilgrimage site Las Lajas, where we sleep in an old convent (Hospedaje Pastoral for 3 USD) from where you have a impressive view on the neo-gothic basilica. After a very cold shower the next morning, our taxi brings us back to Ipiales where we can cross the bridge to Ecuador.

14. Ecuadoooor!

In spite of important natural resources and several attempts to rescue the economy, Ecuador is in the middle of a financial crisis. Due to high inflation the currency Sucre (1 USD = 25000 S/) is officially abolished on 15th September and replaced by the USD. I am probably the last Luxembourger who pays with these dirty notes.

It is Tourism Day and at the border we are welcomed with flowers and disco music. From Tulcan we get a bus to Ibarra (2 hours/ 1,3 USD), the next provincial capital. After securing a room for the night in the Hotel Imbabura (3 USD) we continue our journey (5000 Sucre) to the world famous Indian market in Otavalo, where we admire local handicrafts and textiles. We each buy a warm pullover for 13 USD. As Marc gets some bad news through Email, we try to cheer him up at El Enquentro. At 6:30 am we have to be at the wild Ibarra train station (Reserve the tickets in advance!) where we have coffee at a food stall. The scene becomes unreal, as an old school bus, which has been mounted somehow on train wheels, slowly approaches over the rotten rails. We are 10 tourists who climb onto the roof of our funny rail vehicle. After sunrise we start our spectacular journey trough the town, along fertile grasslands and then into the arid mountains with many tunnels and wooden bridges. Although it is freezing cold we appreciate the wonderful scenery. We can not go all the way to San Lorenzo, because the rails are damaged. We help to push the 'autoferro' 180% on a turning rail, have a coffee break and drive back. For lunch we try a local speciality: guinea pigs (4 USD/cuy). Again something that tastes like chicken.

In the afternoon we arrive in Quito. A taxi brings us to the popular Centro del Mundo where you get a noisy dormitory bed for 2,5 USD. The sprawling capital seems huge and you can find everything a traveller needs. Especially along the modern Avenida Amazonas, where most tourists stay, completely protected by police. At night this area transforms into a party town. In 'gringo street' places like Arribar, Mr Frog and No Bar are always crowded. It is not recommended though to leave this zone, as crime is omnipresent. I meet interesting people like Christophe, Paty, 4 Australians and Wim's detestable girlfriend, but most of the time I stay around Wim and Marc. I book a flight to Miami and see a folkloric dance show at the university campus. On Saturday morning I visit the nearby Vivarium, displaying a selection of snakes like Pit Vipers, King Cobra and Burmese Python. A friendly 'boa constrictor constrictor' is put around my neck for a photo session (Try not to smell like chicken!). In the afternoon we make our tour of the crowded Old Town with its various colonial buildings and churches and sneak into the lofty towers of 'La Basilica'.

Although I have a cold on Sunday I take a bus to Banos (4 hours, 2 USD) where I meet my friend Silvan, whose party needs one more person for an expedition into the Amazonian rainforest. In the luxurious Hotel Montoya I get my own room for 2 USD (+TV). I have a great view over the lovely town and the volcanic mountains. Silvan and his tall companion Peter, an American veteran soldier, show me the best breakfast place near the Parque Central, a 1 USD cinema and their favourite Spaghetti restaurant. Visa is not accepted in this town, so I have to borrow money from Silvan to finance our 5-day excursion to the remote northern Oriente (150 USD with Auca Tours). In the evening I meet Jean-Baptiste and Emmanuel from France, the two other members of our party. Several boxes of food and equipment are stored inside the 9 pm bus to Coca in the Amazonian lowlands. During that night our bus is more climbing than driving down the Andean Mountains, and the road becomes quite bad. 12 hours later, the Jungle (Selva) Military record our names in their big jungle book before we are allowed into the Parque Nacional Yasuni.

After some hours in shabby, dirty Coca we load all material on the back of our jeep (including ourselves) and then we cross the bridge on the Rio Napo. We drive two hours along a rusty oil pipeline through the jungle, buy three frightened chickens and finally we arrive on the Shiripuno River. We meet our excellent young guide Hernan. The two other guides are the clumsy Darwin and the wild Kaiga. We float down the shallow river through the jungle with our canoe (25 HP engine). We see some colourful toucans and parrots flying over the trees and many butterflies (mariposas). After a couple of hours we prepare our first camp. We have two tents and a camping cooker. Nearby is the native village Nunenu, populated by the indigenous Huaorani Indians. We visit them in their wooden, open huts and learn that our guide Kaiga's family lives here. On a recent hunt they killed some monkeys and a Capybara. The meat tastes very intense. While I collect firewood with the canoe, Hernan cooks a delicious chicken meal. In the muddy river, which is the habitat for anacondas, crocodiles and piranhas, we do the washing-up and wash ourselves in the same time. The brown river brings us the next day to our second camp on a clearing in primary rainforest. We can not continue further down, as an isolated, hostile tribe, the Sandoval, allows no trespassing into their territory. Ten years ago they attacked a petroleum plant (Shell) and killed everybody. We put rubber boots and go on our first excursion into the jungle. With the machete Hernan clears the path in front of our small group, while Kaiga hacks down several trees and bushes (he calls it "cleaning"). We admire a huge 900-year-old Ceiba tree and learn how to climb trees and lianas (the best Tarzan simulator is at our camp). We identify many plants that are either used for food (fruits, nuts, water storage, we even eat live citric ants from an acacia tree); for its intrinsic properties (hardwood for weapons, colour, balsa, vines and grasses used as ropes); or that are simply interesting (walking bambil). No need to bring a beauty case to the jungle either, as toothpaste leafs, anaesthetic, monkey comb and 'capiron' skin cleaner are readily available. We observe a beaver and see some more perched parrots. During the night we catch some tasty fishes (barbudos) that will complement our already filling breakfast composed of huge portions of fruit salad with yoghurt, bread with eggs and loads of coffee. The jungle becomes already more familiar and our excursion that day leads us to a nice view point on a hill. We learn how to prepare curare poison and even test it with the tip of the tongue. Back at the camp I have to kill our last chicken by cutting its head and collecting the blood in a bowl for piranha fishing. We are dropped at a remote pond where swimming is not recommended. Here we throw our fishhooks with chicken intestines into the water while some giant mosquitoes torture us until the sun goes down. We don't catch a single piranha and eat the chicken instead. Along the embankment we see the curious green eyes of some caimans. Kaiga gets into the water to catch one, but they escape. We take the boat and glide through the dark of the forest in search of animals. Hernan finally throws a small crocodile into the canoe. We are very excited and learn how to catch them by the neck.

After a delicious pancake breakfast the next morning, we break up our camp to return upstream to the village in the afternoon. At one point we observe a large band of monkeys cross the river by jumping high from one tree to the next above our heads. On our guided tour through the village we learn that the Huaorani Indians grow yucca and hallucinogenic plants. In his hut, that is replaced every two years, the chief is dozing in a hammock next to the fireplace. After practising with a traditional blowpipe we visit some more families. Health problems include malaria, toothaches and nutrition deficiencies. The village youth is playing football. I regret that this useless mass hysteria even reached already these remote jungle regions. For dinner the whole village is suddenly assembled around our camp, because they hope to get hold of some food. Hernan distributes packs of instant noodles and soups and cooks an egg for each of them. The next day we complete our tour at a little bridge where our jeep picks us up. After two hours of 'jeep surfing' we board the 4 pm bus back to Banos (6 USD), dirty as we are.

The only place open in Banos at 4:30 am is the Hot Baths next to a huge waterfall. We are dirty, we are cold - we found the ideal waiting room. We watch the sun rise while lying in the extremely hot water. Unfortunately I somehow lose my glasses here. This doesn't discourage me to celebrate my birthday at the fake Hard Rock Café with Silvan and Peter. One day after the Guayaquil independence day we drive to Ambato (1h, 0,4 USD), where we visit a little museum and wait two hours at the bank to get some cash, and then I take a bus with Peter to Guayaquil (5 h, 3USD). Silvan travels further south, heading to Argentina. I can stay with Peter in a nice house in the northern Sauces district. In the modern Mall del Sol I buy contact lenses (35 USD for 6 month) and at the Tame office near Plaza de San Francisco in central Guayaquil you can get discounted flights to Galapagos for less than 300 USD. On Columbus Day (12th October) at 11:30 I board flight EQ193 to Galapagos.

15. Galapagos

On the equator line, 1000 km west of the mainland, lie the many arid islands that form the volcanic Galapagos archipelago. Its isolation and geographic location influenced by several maritime currents helped to create a unique natural experiment where animals and plants evolved undisturbed into a complex and fragile ecosystem. The statement that original species of birds, reptiles and insects adapted here perfectly to a diversity of habitats inspired Charles Darwin to formulate his revolutionary Evolution Theory.

After the quarantine inspection at Baltra airport I have to pay the steep 100 USD (cash!) entrance fee to the National Park. A ferry ships the new visitors over a small channel, and then a slow bus drives me to Puerto Ayora, the largest town on the main inhabited island Santa Cruz. With Freddy Tours I plan my itinerary for the next week on the beautiful sailboat 'Angelique'. I am completely broke now, as I have to pay most of the 400 USD in cash. They charge between 12% and 30% commission on your Visa card. I book a dive (50 USD) with the unfriendly Biko from the sister-boat 'Mabel'. Instead of waiting the whole afternoon, I decide to have a look at the famous 'Darwin Research Station'. I cross the clean town and follow a narrow path along bushes and large Opuntia Cactus. Suddenly I am eye to eye with an impressively armoured Giant Tortoise absently gazing into the void. ET is back. After getting on board I am welcomed by jovial Pedro. My cabin is clean and has an attached bath with cold shower. I got on board just in time for dinner. Carlitos, the cook prepares nice meals with starter and dessert. I meet my brilliant guide Tony, and my fellow passengers Ruth and Gareth, a British couple on a world tour; Isaac (Israel) and the two English brothers Sam and Marcus, with whom I play the card game 'Quarenta'; and two couples from Holland and Switzerland. Martin, a German social worker, already circumnavigated the islands on a dump boat. We usually sail during the night.

After breakfast we all get into the dinghy and float along the rocky coast of Rabida. The sharp lava rocks are teeming with red, scurrying Sally Lightfoot Crabs and fat, tired Sea Iguanas, that are expecting to rise their body temperature. Numerous Pelicans and black Frigate Birds are waiting for fishes. The clumsy Blue Footed Boobies practise their role as island clowns, while the Sea Lions are dozing on the beach. We are lucky to actually observe the dramatic birth of a confused Sea Lion. Next we have a wet landing at Sombrero Chino. Being at the top of the food chain, the Galapagos Hawk has no natural enemies and consequently one specimen stubbornly stays perched on its boulder like a big chicken even though we obviously intrigue it with our presence. I am amazed how close you can approach the animals. The icy Humboldt Current brings cold water straight from the Antarctica, explaining the presence of Penguins on the equator. The freezing snorkelling is breathtaking though. Curious Sea Lions are dancing around us, I encounter two White Tip Reef Sharks and see several rays (Eagle, Diamond) including one enormous Marble Stingray. On Santiago the next morning we walk over lava fields (Pahoehoe and Ah-Ah) and examine the slowly invading pioneer plants, but the ecological balance is threatened by an excessive population of introduced goats and pigs. The panoramic view from the top of the cone-shaped volcano on Bartolome is an unforgettable memory. Down on the beach, standing in knee-deep water, I count up to seven (7!) White Tip Sharks peacefully circling around my legs. During our chilly snorkelling session I play with more sea lions and spot fishes and penguins. We get up early to see the impressive mangroves in Turtle Cove on Seymour. Sea Turtles, Eagle Rays and White and Black Tip Sharks are on the wildlife menu.

In the Itabaca Canal we pick up new passengers: two couples (Swiss and French), 3 Australian girls, Spanish Pedro and Silke from Liechtenstein. In the morning we arrive in South Plaza, where the Opuntia Cactus forests are teeming with Lava Lizards and Land Iguanas. In Santa Fe I count 14 Eagle Rays gracefully gliding together through the clear sea. Although I stay polite, I give up asking Biko every day about the promised dive. During the night we pass deep waters to Espanola and most passengers get a bit seasick. In Punta Suarez we observe an Albatross take-off platform, a blowhole and a bachelors colony of angry male Sea Lions. The cute Baby Sea Lions are very curious and approach to smell the human intruders. Other animals include Tropic Bird, Masked Booby, Hawk, Mockingbird and Finches. In Garden Bay we snorkel around 'Turtle Rock'. We are earlier than planned in Floreana, as the crew participates in a rescue mission for another boat. In Post Office Bay we borrow the whaler's PO barrel to send some mail, and then we visit the Flamingo colony in its smelly salt lagoon in Punta Cormoran. After another freezing snorkelling experience at 'Corona del Diablo' it is time to return (accompanied by dolphins) to Santa Cruz where we arrive already at 6 pm for a farewell drink. I check in for 4 USD at Los Amigos and meet my friends at Galapason Bar. Before sunrise the next morning I try to organise two dives (100 USD) but Visa is not accepted at any dive shop. I am very disappointed and book an immediate flight back to the mainland (Quito via Guayaquil). I feel that my energy reserves are running low and that I wouldn't mind returning home immediately. I have one week left in Ecuador though.

16. End of the story

In Quito I sleep again in the dormitory at Centro del Mundo (2,5 USD + 10 min Internet), where they remember me. I join Ruth and Gareth for a pizza dinner. Early in the morning I drive with the modern trolley to Old Quito. At the crowded market two thieves slice my bag open with a razorblade, but as I notice them, they don't have enough time to steal anything. I bring my damaged bag to a tailor for reparation. A local bus (1h) drops me next to the touristy Mitad del Mundo (Middle of the World). Apart from a miniature model of Quito, the artificial village doesn't inspire me and ironically, the whole circus is 300 m too far to the south to be on the equator. Some astonishing water experiments (proving opposite corriolis forces on both hemispheres), together with a small astronomy lesson and shrink heads make it worth visiting the interesting Inti-Nan Museum on the real equator line outside the park. In the evening I go out with Ruth and Gareth at No Bar and Arribar. Next day we watch some movies before they leave for a jungle tour. That evening it is Cuba Libre time with Giel, Kim and Christina (who had been raped and bitten in the neck in Venezuela). We bring her to a hospital as the wound is infected. That doesn't prevent us from dancing later at No Bar and continuing the party with Carlos at Tamara's flat.

For Monday I book a great tour to Mindo (14 USD) with Alex, Keri, Christina and Raymond. We have twice a flat tire and once we struggle to push our jeep out of the mud. The excursion through the cloud forest is nice and I jump down a beautiful 12-meter waterfall (although my estimation is closer to 8 m). Then we have fun floating down the icy, shallow river in a rubber-tube raft. Frozen as we are, we sleep all the way home on the back of our pick up to be fit for the following cocktail party. I meet Ian the next day during my Miami preparations. At 6 p.m. he joins me to drive down to Riobamba, where we check in at Hotel Bayan for less than 1 USD. After a spicy breakfast early in the morning Ian and me hurry to secure a space on the roof of the very crowded train to Alausi (15 USD). Ambulant sellers still manage to climb over the tired tourists. We pass beautiful mountain landscape and see the snow-capped Chimborazo (6310 m) in the morning sun. Dogs chase the slow train and farmers, working in the fields, wave at us. The train continues until the unspectacular 'Nariz del Diablo' where we use a peculiar zigzag technique to manage a steep descent into the valley. After a late lunch in Alausi I survive a more spectacular bus ride on a dusty dirt road through cloud covered mountain scenery. A second bus drops me at 8 pm in Guayaquil. I share a clean hotel room with Ras (DK), who is on his way to Galapagos, and show him the restaurant Victor 3. The next morning I finally have my flight to Miami via Bogota. Only at 1 in the night I arrive in my dormitory bed in Clay Hotel (15 USD) on South Beach.

For my sister's 18th birthday I have invited her and my mother to spend one week in Florida. I am glad to meet them at the airport on the 27th October and to show them around in Miami. I rent a Chevy and drive them in total 1700 miles to the Everglades Alligator farm, Key West and Orlando where we visit Disney World Magic Kingdom and the excellent Epcot Center. Back in Miami I find a flight back to Luxembourg via Zurich.