Medillin: So much more than gangstas

Throughout the 80s & 90s Medellin was a no-go city for everyone who wasn't on Pablo Escobar's payroll.  The most notorious cartel head in Columbia, he was reported to have offered to clear the national debt with his spare change, kept a private zoo with rhinos, and gave $1000 to anyone who'd kill a policeman.  Some locals we've talked to treat him with same warped reverence some cockneys show to the Krays, a Latino Robin Hood who, if you overlook the years of kidnap, extortion and murder, put a lot back into the community.  

As there are back-packer targeted tours of 'Escobar's Medellin' to celebrate the Goodfellas side of the area we were a little apprehensive of how much we'd get out of visiting the city but were proved very wrong. 

The 14 hour night bus was expectedly freezing cold but unexpectedly the entertainment took the form of the singing driver. Super freak, Saturday Night (Wigfield), We are the Champions all played loud and on loop. Not speaking English or knowing the words was not a barrier to our man joining in. I accept he needed to stay awake on a long night drive but we're in Columbia; There are other means. 

Medellin is huge, sprawling and surrounded by mountains. At a higher altitude than we'd experienced so far it's also a lot cooler. After the heat of the coast and jungle it was really nice to walk around without risk of melting. 

On day 1 we joined a walking tour run by a local man (realcitytours), Pablo, who took us on a 4 hour history & cultural guide around the bits of the city most gringo maps have red crosses through.  Pablo had grown up during the Cartel years and made no bones about how unglamorous life had been. He showed us places where people 'disappeared', where politicians were gunned down in broad daylight (3 out of 4 candidates in one election), and where corrupt officials used to detain people indefinitely.  From this though he explained how Medellin had rebuilt itself through political and social reform, and learnt to celebrate at any opportunity. The outcome is an impressively developed city with extremes of society sharing space and pride in their city.

Example: Medellin has a metro system entirely free of vandalism, litter or rudeness. An announcement played every 20 minutes or so reminds you to observe 'the Metro way' which translates into keeping it clean, giving your seat up to people who need it etc. and everyone does. 

The poorest few million people live in barrios (neighbourhoods- really not slums as we were told to expect) sprawling up the steep hills around the city base. To bridge the gap of opportunities the city built a cable car (free to all) to transport people up and down - a journey that you might otherwise consider only doing once a week and would take an age, & a lot of brake pads.  

We used both forms of transport and on both locals were keen to tell us about them. On the cable car a woman pointed out the massive library built in 2006 - the biggest library in the city bang in the middle of the poorest area.  We went in and it had art exhibitions, rooms full of computers etc.  Hard to relay that in the UK we're closing all ours down. 

Downtown the plazas are filled with Botero sculptures, people watchers, alcoholics, prostitutes, children, shoppers and traders all rubbing along together outside the many churches. Local musicians play for free (not at all interested in tourists because it's too new a phenomenon still) and people form big crowds to play Chase the Lady.  Downtown is also where you can buy cheap, large meals ($3 for half a chicken if you don't mind sharing your bench with a shoe-shine and a rent boy). 

Uptown is very different: gated houses, swanky apartments with armed guards on the door, and a square packed full of USA style eateries (including Hooters. I'd rather starve.). The women are pneumatic (boob jobs are around $700 here), the men are pumped up mahagony creatures dripping in gold and very happy to flash their cash. Uptown has US prices to match it's aspirations so we hung out with the scruffs. 

The relatively recent inclusion of Medellin on the gringo trail made it very good for being stared at.  If we stood still for more than 2 minutes a group of locals would join us to see what was happening and thanks to co-travellers Jess & Peter, they had 2 ginger fellas to gawp at (clearly referring to Peter there. Jess does not sport a ginger beard). 

Very enlightening to see a bit of real Columbian life but like all big cities schlepping around it was exhausting so after 3 days we packed up and hopped on the bus to Salento. 

Teyuna, the Lost City

Our guidebook gave the impression that if you're not Bear Grylls you shouldn't attempt the 6 day trek to the Lost City. The tour guide with dollar signs in his eyes said it'd be easy.  The truth lies somewhere between the two, with the slidometer moving to a different point on that scale every 5 minutes. 

We opted to do it in 5 days so with 5-days worth of kit in our backpacks we took a 3 hour chivas (open sided jeep with metal bench seats. Very prone to breaking down) away from the coast and into the hills where we met our fellow Trekkers & ate lunch.  Timed perfectly to ensure the first days walking began in mid-day heat (around 34 degrees), and on a full stomach. 

12 of us plus our guide Rodriguez set off at an alarming pace through a village called Machete and straight onto a trail so gnarled with tree roots we river-danced our way to the first (of 20+) river crossings.  With it being dry season the rivers were low so with the exception of 2 crossings that we had to wade through (checking legs for leeches on exit) they were all deemed suitable for leaping across rocks.  My mountain-goat like balance was exceptional as I gracefully skipped across without a single swear passing my lips*. 

Away from the river we climbed an incredibly steep chalk hill (the path formed from rain cutting through the limestone creating a high sided track that no whisper of a breeze could get to) for 90 minutes. The beauty of climbing up chalk is that it moves under your feet so for every 50cm you step up you slide back 25.  By the end of this natures-travelator I considered dying as the most likely way of finishing the trek. 

Thankfully an unknown force (later understood to be Flor our cook for the duration) had skipped on ahead and at the final turn we found a tray of melon waiting.  This was a reoccurring theme of the walk- every time it got incredibly hot/steep/difficult terrain we were rewarded with fresh fruit. As we were carrying limited water (too heavy) and sweating unbelievable amounts this was a very welcome touch. 

After that climb we were assured it was easy from there (all things being relative -it was) until we reached camp: hammocks and a river to swim/wash in. 

Once the sun had set (around 6.30- close to the equator here so even day/night hours) it got cold quickly. Changed into long trousers & sleeves, socks over trousers (scouse-style) in an attempt to defy the millions of bird-sized biting bugs, we ate rice & eggs by candlelight & then climbed into hammocks hoping a) the mozzie nets didn't have too many holes in them b) the animals around us kept a polite distance away.  That night we saw nothing more than spiders but the frog, monkey & bird chorus was relentless, and like everything in Columbia, really bloody loud. 

5.30 Day 2 we waved goodbye to 6 people who'd opted to complete the trek in 4 days and 6 of us enjoyed a lie in (in reality extra time to uncurl limbs and stretch back into human form after a fairly uncomfortable night with not much sleep). 

As Rodriguez had gone on with the fast group Flor became our new guide.  Rodriguez's 30 or so words of English suddenly seemed quite useful as we realised the fluent bilingual Trekkers were all in the other group and Flor spoke only very fast, loud and feisty Spanish. At 5ft 1, toting a machete, with leg muscles like Jeff Capes, Flor was not a woman to be messed with. 

She marched us up and down hills, crossing rivers, pointing out indigenous dwellings and talking non-stop the entire day.  Between myself & Goetz (a fellow trekker) we translated and relayed questions back (How high is this climb? Are we nearly there yet?) until we reached camp 2. Flor walked us so quickly we caught the fast group up by lunch time. 

Camp 2 was a row of beds under nets, under a tin roof. We washed ourselves and our stinky clothes in the river, explored a bit and were in our stylish night attire by sunset.  With no electricity and no other company we bought some beer off the camp owner and settled down for some mindless chat before 8.30 bedtime. 

Flor had other ideas however.  Sanuel, the camp owner, was the first indigenous person we'd met up close so Flor summoned him to do a 'show and tell' for us. 6 knackered gringos, language barriers in every direction and a naturally shy tribesman would not be anyone's perfect dinner party mix but it was great fun. 

Flor : Sanuel, show them what you carry in your bag. 

Sanuel (looking slightly baffled) reaches past the leaf-woven traditional bag all Kogi men carry, past the hollow gourd strapped to the waist of his all-white tribal suit and from a nylon bag produces a 1980's CB radio. 

After a brilliant 30 seconds of him proffering some old tech at us like he'd just launched a new iPhone, and us all not knowing quite what to say Flor took charge. Sanuel got told off for being dim and was made to put the radio away and show us the contents of the more traditional bags.  

As he emptied a fair amount of marching powder on the table you could see the penny drop - Oh, you meant show the gringos the drugs I'm continuously rubbing into my gums. Got it! 

Kogi folk prefer their class A traditional style so a mix of ground shells & coca leaves are used to give a little pick me up. It was only polite to try it, and Sanuel told us we'd walk much faster the next day: apparently Kogi men go off hunting for 3 days at a time with no need for food or water, just a gourd full of the good stuff. 

With no discernible effects (leaves taste like generic green plant, shells of nothing much) we thanked our host, bought more beer from him and bid him goodnight. 

Not sure whether it was our reduction in numbers, the more exposed environment, the big cats & snakes we'd been told about, or exhaustion kicking in but night 2 in the jungle felt different. Eerily silent and very cold (I went minesweeping empty beds and got 3 blankets but was still freezing)  it was a long night. 

Day 3 was very similar to day 2 - we did indeed walk fast but that was down to Flor rather than coca leaves. She explained on day 2 that as non-indigenous types we weren't allowed into the villages we were walking past but on day 3 she clocked an empty dwelling shared by the local tribe and as no-one was about, took us all in for a look.  

In Kogi communities men live in the big huts on the higher ground, women and children in the smaller ones.  Marriage occurs within tribe only and the happy couple are sent off to one of the fincas (tribe owned shared hut) away from the village to consummate the event. On their return he joins the men, she returns to the women/children. 

This continues for ever! Sex has to be booked in and the whole village knows about it. Privacy is not a privilege of village life. 

The exception is the Shaman who lives in his own house (his wife lives in a neighbouring one. Smaller, obvs) and works between villages. We visited a Shamans house and were shown round the herb garden where he grows cures for typhoid, malaria and cancer.  This last claim was met with a long silence from our group. 

Despite not living as a family unit the wives cook for the family so once a quarter will visit the shared mill and grind enough maize and sugar for their own.  The mill is assembled & strapped to a mule who then circles the hut until it's done. 

Kogi children go to school until the age of 6 when they start work. In 5 days of walking we passed one school building and when we asked Sanuel he told us it's too far away for his kids to bother going. The average brood incidentally is 10 children per couple. 

The Kogi people dress all in white apart from their gum boots, machete harnesses and bags (men only) and are visibly facially different to non-indigenous Columbians. Closer to Mayan features we'd seen in Central America. 

Beliefs wise, they're all about the moon and sun- we trekked at full moon and can understand why they revere it: it makes a big difference to your hunting chances when every animal comes out to play, and you can vaguely see them.

Anyway, day 3 got us to base camp where we slept in a tent and got up at 5.30 to climb the steps to the Lost City. 

Cuidad Perdida : the Lost City.

From around 900 AD it's believed that several thousand Kogis lived in one settlement (Teyuna) in the Sierra Nevada mountain range. They had an established town with 1000ish dwellings, dance floors, ceremonial buildings, sacrificial stones, maps (carved into large rocks), work shops etc but the Spanish invasion bought disease their way and sometime around 1560 they had to abandon the area and move higher into the mountains.  The place then reforested and become lost beneath masses of trees. 

It wasn't until 1975 that explorers rediscovered the 1200 stone steps up to city and began clearing vast amounts of jungle to reveal the stone remains. From the 80s it's been open to tourists although a bout of kidnapping took it off the 'must do' list until 2003 when the Columbian government put a permanent military presence in place at the site.  

Today it's considered very safe and the 20 or so visible soldiers are tourist friendly. We were told there's another 60 or so patrolling the wider area too but we didn't spot them.   As a result of the military camp there is wifi in Teyuna. 

We'd been warned that the city itself is not that impressive and that the trek is the best bit. The trek was fun (in a sometimes miserable, sweaty, exhausting way) but the Lost City was stunning. 

Rodriguez joined us again and gave us lots of information about the way of living and explained things that otherwise would've just looked like small walls.  3 hours of gawping, learning and swatting away huge Mosquitos, we descended the steps and began the full journey in reverse. 

Stopping off for another night at Sanuels place we did the return leg a day quicker as there's 

more downhill (not that much mind. Still the climbs came in long sections and the descents were pretty brutal too). Our final day we set out at 5.30 and added pitch black river crossings to the list of achievements. 

On reflection one of the hardest treks I've done. The distance is only 49km but the terrain, heat, humidity and bugs all made it feel a lot harder but other than flying over in a helicopter it's the only way to see Teyuna and it was definitely worth it. 

After several showers, a trip to the launderette and a day lounging back on the coast we'd almost forgotten the misery of the climbs.  Pain is fleeting, the thrill of seeing sunrise over Sierra Nevada from a throne in the Lost City will last a lot lot longer. 

*in my dreams. At one point Rodriguez ended up in the river trying to help me stay dry. 

Columbia: heat, noise & mud baths

Despite having been on the Pacific or Caribbean coast for weeks now the heat of Cartagena still seemed more oppressive than anything we'd come across. Averaging 35 degree it made sight seeing slow and sticky.  

Our 3 hour castle visit was really interesting but even though we set out at 8am we had to spend the afternoon rehydrating in the shade. Don't know why the heat is so much fiercer than the same temperature in other locations but it definitely is.  Castle/siege fact: Europe had multiple failed attempts to take the City, often foiled by the heat & mosquitos which turned an army of men into sun stroked, malarial loons. Wasn't hard to imagine that. 

Partly due to heat, partly because he was starting to scare children, Chris decided it was haircut time. First one in 3 months so we headed to Columbia's Nicky Clarke for a top notch salon experience.  The barber took an absolute age but was very pleased with his work. And Chris looks like a normal man again, instead of a ginger Tom Hanks in Castaway. 

Today the walled city is the big tourist draw and while it's pretty enough for a sunset walk the buildings within it are now pricey bars, shops & restaurants for the cruise ship day visitors.

Getsemani (used to be slums, now the red light/cheap hostel area) is much more fun- it's where locals live and each evening everyone pulls their chairs into the street, drinks beer/rum and shuffle around to the loudest music ever heard. I've no idea where the average Cartagenan gets a nightclub sound system from but at least one house per street seems to own one. It gets dragged to the front room, turned up to 11 and stays that way til the early hours. 

The teenagers demonstrate their level of apathy/cool by sitting against the speaker and glaring at everyone (unless that's the only facial option with 150Db vibrating through your skull), the men bet on Ludo (an unbelievably noisy and exciting street sport), the woman dance and the old folks rock in their chairs and suck their teeth/coca leaves.  Everyone's happy! 

About 45k outside of the city there's a mud volcano (Volcan Totuma) - like a regular volcano but throws boiling mud instead of lava. Inactive for c30 yrs it's currently used as a bizarre spa.  You climb the volcano (only little), descend a ladder into a mud pool which despite being 23m deep you can't get into beyond shoulder height.  It's so viscous that you're buoyant (very similar feel to the Dead Sea) and so bob around in its healing properties.  

There is the option to be massaged (touched up) for $1.50 by a local with absolutely no massage qualifications which we passed on and chose to manoeuvre our way around by ourselves for 20 minutes. 

Once you've climbed the very slippy ladder out again the weirdness continues as you waddle down to the lake to get clean.  Here a child takes your flipflops, cleans them & has them waiting to step into, while a bossy woman leads you by the hand into the lake, pushes you into sitting position, whips your swimmies off then proceeds to tip buckets of water over your head until you're clean.  By the time the muddy water is out your eyes, and you've recovered from the public nakedness thing your swimmies are returned mud free and you're free to swim or leave as you please. 

An unusual but very enjoyable trip out to end our city stay. Next stop Santa Marta- where Columbians go on holiday, and gringos go to start jungle treks...

Panama City

A 12 hour overnight journey saw us arrive bleary eyed and sleep deprived in Panama City. Bags dropped off at the hostel, we went out to explore Casta Viejo (the old part of the city). A strange combo of beautiful old mansions converted into boutique hotels, derelict buildings (a lot of which are slowly being renovated), churches and museums. Very nice laid back vibe, airy squares with people sat reading the paper pre-work and an army of cats hunting for anything they can find. 

Breakfast found - the tourist places weren't open that early so we joined the locals for yucca, eggs and orange juice (maybe a contender to Gallo Pinto) and then had a power nap in the main square until the Canal Museum opened. 

Good museum covering the history of the Panama Canal but we concluded it must be funded by the US as the atrocities that took place during the building and subsequent ownership battles were skimmed over so blatantly it led us to sit and discuss them for an hour. Maybe not the effect omitting them was meant to have but a strange edit of history. 

It's not a huge city and it's the first one we've been to with 'no go' areas blocks away from the main attractions so it was interesting to see the stark contrasts between the sky scraper offices and apartments in the finance sector,  the up and coming renovations in the old city, the vulture circled fish market (serving Ceviche & beer in paper cups to hide the fact they're selling booze without licences), the poverty stricken tower blocks of china town and el barrillo ... All within a few blocks of each other. 

Ceviche is a national dish- raw fish and sea food bits marinated in lime and served on ice In a cup. Not our bag but goes down a storm here. 

As Panama used to be part of Columbia there is a large Columbian population here. Whole families who grew up in the Canal Zone during its lengthy construction are called Zonians and have dual US/Panama identities. Every year any illegal immigrants are swept up in an amnesty and granted citizenship so quite a few Nicaraguans & Ticos live here too. Businesses are meant to employ 9 Panamanians for every 1 non-citizen but ignore this so lots of US people take the highest paid jobs in the corporate sector. Chinese immigrants have seized the market in supermarkets and laundrettes so are a growing population too. 

A big old melting pot which feels like it's not working for the low skilled Panamanians living in the ghettos.  In the 2 days we spent here we spoke to US, Zonian, Columbian and Chinese residents but no Panamanians other than the workers in the fish market. Ours was only a fleeting visit but I wonder if the lower classes are getting pushed further into poverty and under the carpet. 

Anyway, the thing Panama is most famous for is the Canal so we spent day 2 at the biggest locks (Colon) looking at ships.  As my view of this is ships, bla bla, engineering, bla, water levels bla, it's over to Chris for rest. 

BFO ships go through BFO locks is about the size of it (apparently BFO may need explaining, the first word is 'big'...) - but given the ships are 400m long, shifting a volume of stuff that's hard to comprehend, the sight was definitely worth the trip.  We arrived early-ish at about 8:30am ready to wave at several hundred people on a reasonable sized cruise ship slowly raised through the 3 steps up 26m.  Then watch a couple of the humongous container laden Captain Phillips style ships go through with just 2 feet to spare at each side of the channel.  The ships have to pay $100,000s just to traverse the full canal including the locks, it really is the fulcrum for the countries economy.

Our tourism style is such that we got quite used to they idea after an hour or so, we were glad we'd had so much time to do so alone when we were suddenly joined by 300 older western 'cousins' on the cramped viewing platform, complaining about having to climb the 20 stairs, searching frantically for a bathroom or just trying to out do each other on chino-shorts, sandals & sports socks combos, time for lunch...

Our hostel (and others we visited for Intel) had a few people stuck in city-limbo. There's no land crossing out of Panama into Columbia as despite all the progress made , the Darien area is not safe from guerrilla activity.  As such people are hanging around for small boats to confirm crossings across the Caribbean. Our preferred route (3 days sailing through the San Blas Islands then 1 day sail to Columbia) wasn't sailing for another 7 days, and then with the warming that the sea at this time of year is likely to cause delays.  Unwilling to kick around Panama for another week, or to take the more volatile open water crossing (I get seasick in a swimming pool) we booked a flight. 45 minutes vs 5 days on a basic boat: plane wins. 

Panama City to Cartagena (Caribbean coast, north Columbia), bonus of dousing myself in duty free perfume on the way through the airport & replacing my money belt (zip came off 4 wks ago so has been a money 'open bit of fabric' since). Felt almost civilised by the time we hit the 35 degree heat of Columbia's biggest port. 

Bocas del Toro, Panama

Friends from home came out for a holiday so we spent a great few days catching up, talking about things other than the best hostels, and enjoying the gifts they bought - for Chris contact lenses and chocolate, for me exfoliants, face masks and moisturisers.  After 3 months of mostly cold showers and soap, nice toiletries & hot water felt like all my Champneys at once. Easily pleased these days! 

A body boarding incident on New Year's Eve meant Chris spent the evening with concussion so while he was throwing up and shivering I had drinks with friends (Twohermitcrabs.com) and went down to the beach for fireworks at midnight.  Not quite the evening we had planned and Chris looked/felt worse than most revellers the day after.  Egg shaped bump on head he rallied by evening and we all met up for a final meal together before packing up and heading out of Costa Rica. 

The border crossing into Panama was horrid. Combination of long queues, no shade and overly officious officials took about 2 1/2 hours to get through. You have to have proof of onward travel to get into Panama but this isn't really advertised anywhere. We saw a few people being hauled off into interview rooms after innocently saying 'we don't know where we're going next' instead of coming armed with fake documents and lies like the rest of us. 

Once through we got a bus to the coast, and then a boat across to Bocas del Toro - an archipelago of Caribbean Islands. It was pouring down when we arrived and started the schlep around hostels to find a room. 

On about our 10th attempt we struck lucky (in the very loosest use of the word lucky) and found a cheap room complete with Sky, air con, hot water, a huge bed and towels.  As if that weren't enough value we also got the biggest roaches I've ever seen (suspect that might change though), rats, an unstoppable pool of water on the floor and a family of cockerels outside.  This is what you get for coming to 'party towns' in high season. 

Needless to say we moved rooms when we could - (Hotel Sagitario $30, hot water, aircon, middle of town. It's not on trip advisor/hostel world but should be. When similar places are asking $88 a night it's a bit of a gem) and got on with seeing the islands. 

Through water taxis and buses we got around 4 of them and saw bottle nose dolphin, sloths, starfish, rays, along with the usual array of vultures, parrots & pelicans. The only thing we didn't get to see were red frogs.  Despite going to red frog beach on the advice of locals ("they're everywhere... You can't move for them...") turns out they're endangered and the areas they thrive in are now out of bounds to tourists. They're only the size of a fingernail and don't do anything other frogs can't but we quite liked the idea of seeing one.

Snorkelling amongst starfish, brain coral, rays and other sea stuff made up for it. 

Overall Bocas is naturally impressive but fast being ruined. Litter on the beaches, bars (and their competing sound systems) on any spare stretch of sand, motor boats chasing dolphins for camera-ready tourists and even an inflatable banana ride being offered on the one beach safe to swim on (surf and riptides are strong here) all mean it's days of being an 'off the beaten track gem' are over.   It's not all bad by any stretch and we've had fun here (the rum's cheap*, we met back up with Lucy & Jules**, & the food caters for all gringo desires) but we're happy to be packing up our swimmies and heading inland to Panama City for some cultcha. 

* & ** are very much linked. After a day of snorkelling (us) and quad biking (them) we met at a happy hour bar for way too many cubas before staggering off for a ruby. 3 out of 4 of us were ill the next day, me for 2 days. Similar effects have been known when we've met them in Chiswick too. I can only conclude I'm allergic to them. That said, sad to wave them off as we head in opposite directions. 

Christmas in the Caribbean

As Christmas is full of disrupted normality we decided not to do border crossings or any major travel over this time so have been in one place -Puerto Viejo - until it all goes away! 

As a non-lover of this time of year it's been great to avoid the 2 month build up; the tinny Christmas music in every shop, shops, and poorly written Christmas specials on the TV.  Even my FOMO hasn't kicked in for the many work parties I'd normally be going to.  Instead it's all felt very normal right up until the actual time of Christmas. 

Despite being very Catholic as a nation (less so here due to the amount of Rastafarians) Christmas is understated - decorations are low key, carol concerts start around the 23rd, poor electricity supply puts a stop to 'whose house looks most common' lights competitions & it's all over by the 27th.   

On Christmas Day we went to the beach & there were lots of families there having beer & BBQs & enjoying the time off work then everything was back to normal by Boxing Day.  

We met up with another couple we first met in Guatemala & enjoyed a Christmas dinner together. The English chef has been persuaded to add roast potatoes & Yorkshire pudding onto the menu which was appreciated. While Chris & Toby had the turkey, Alison & I had a huge plate of random veggie curry stuff (with Yorkshire pudding!) - made a change from my traditional cheese & tomato sandwich. 

There is little here to do other than walk/cycle to the beaches and reserves. No bad thing as it's made us sit still for the longest period since we left the UK so have been fully rested and have read lots. Proper reading for enjoyment as opposed to reading to work out which bus/boat/hostel we need to aim for.  

We've been hiring bikes to get around the coast line with mixed success. Bikes here don't have gears, and you brake by cycling backwards. Takes a bit of getting used to but easy enough if a) the bike does actually have brake pads b) your mud guard doesn't fly off going down hills c) the chain doesn't unattached every 2 miles. 

Yesterday we cycled to an animal rescue sanctuary and got attacked by large flying stinging ants when we came to unchain the bikes from a tree. They went for Chris so badly he had to run into the sea throwing his clothes behind him(fear not- he was already wearing swimmies) to get them off.  Even then they waited by his t-shirt for his return. Persistent bugs around these parts! 

The sanctuary was great (Jaguar rescue sanctuary) - they take in whatever needs their help and release them when they're fit again. We got to see a crocodile (rescued on Xmas eve from a man in a bar trying to sell it for meat), owls, monkeys (we went in a cage with 4 of them as part of the 'keep the baby monkeys entertained' programme), a sloth who keeps falling out of trees (see in the pic that she's sleeping on the floor but instinctively holding onto the tree as though she's hanging), snakes, spiders (including the infamous dinner plate sized bird-eating spider), deer, tropical birds, anteaters, wild cats, red eye frogs and a rhino beetle: a huge horned creature which is incredibly strong (hence him refusing to let go of a large piece of melon).  We were advised if we get one on us there is no way of persuading them to let go until they want to so you just have to sit and wait it out. 

All creatures that are probably metres away from us each day but keep themselves hidden so it was great to get up close. Apart from the bird eating one of course. Happily never see another one of those ever again. 

Not much else to report as it's been all about the pura vida...

Couple of cultural observations: 

- size is in no way an inhibitor when it comes to the proud display of an underbum. The shorter & tighter the shorts, the more desirable the wearer feels irrespective of body shape. I'm between thinking this is admirable & a lot healthier than western obsessions with appearance, and thinking maybe not the right sartorial approach for breakfast. 

- dogs are very popular here & the need to have big 'dangerous' breeds is strong in the uber-macho Tico society.  Spaying is not popular though so there are lots of strays wandering around of all manner of terrifying hybrids:  bull terrier/dobermans,  husky/American bulldogs. All look like they could kill you but as strays they're generally wary of humans & only come to beg/share shade.  The latter is why Chris is now King of the Dogs on our chosen beach. While I lie in the sun with few interruptions, Chris reads in the shade & is stealthily joined by several dogs who take position all around him.  Watching him wake from a snooze to find a Rottweiler inches away from his face is my new sport. Yesterday he returned from a swim to find a large hound on his towel. Battle ensued and the dog conceded all but the edge where he literally dug his heels in and refused to let go. So they shared. 

- Rice & Beans is the breakfast of champions. Served for very little dollar everywhere from bus stations to restaurants Gallo Pinto (shown below with egg - we were splashing out!) sets you up until dinner & restores stomach imbalances (I'm being very polite. I think you'll know what I mean) through the magical medium of starchy rice + fibrous beans.  Here they tend to put coriander in it (unnecessary IMHO) or chilli.  The best places serve it with plantain too - a banana like large fruit that's eaten as a veg.  Chopped up and fried to crispiness is great. 

- Gringos eat the strangest things.  Due to the heft of Gallo Pinto we skip lunch and take fruit to the beach with us. An apple & Banana combo being the norm. This week Chris got himself a lovely big banana which turned out to be a plantain. Undeterred he ate it raw with only a small complaint of it being a bit savoury. The equivalent of a Tico visiting the UK, sitting at Lyme Regis eating a bag of raw King Edwards on the basis they're 'sort of like crisps'. Thankfully his pack of feral dogs mauled anyone who dared laugh at the schoolboy error.