We were winding down our last days in the Galapagos. Our guide, Enrique, was a super nice and really soft-spoken person and I felt bad that he had to deal with a German guy and a Swiss guy who really had no respect for him and would venture off the trails, snorkel where/when they weren’t supposed to, use flash photography, and so on. They didn’t seem to mind that they put his job on the line every time they did so. The Polish girls, while friendly, were also a bit of a handful in that they would talk when he was talking and interrupt with jokey questions like, “Well how can we know FOR SURE that the rats are vegetarian?” It probably didn’t help that I wasn’t feeling especially well, with a sore throat (crazed air conditioner or snorkel bacteria?) headache and sore muscles. In any case, we had sailed overnight and arrived in Santa Fe island that morning, in a protected bay surrounded by rock. This island is pretty close to Santa Cruz and is popular with day trippers but one advantage of arriving early was that we had it all to ourselves for a few hours. The beach, again, was littered with sea lions and up the path we got a good look at some land iguanas, which, unlike their marine iguana cousins, are not doing so well. Bjorn had observed that up until now whatever our guides had not failed us: whatever they wrote on the board at least one person in the group saw. However, today’s list had an ambitious amount of birds like yellow warblers and a Galapagos hawk not to mention endemic rats, none of which we came across. Still, it had been a pretty good streak. After our short walk we came back on board and went over the side with our snorkelling gear.
I laid down a bit before heading out with everybody else. So what was the best snorkel for most of the group was just a decent one for me. They saw shark after shark as they got in the water but they had finished their morning snack and gone when I arrived. However, I’m pretty sure I saw (there was no way to miss it) the biggest school of fish I ever have seen or will see. From the surface it looked like rocks because it was a huge patch of black but in the water it was probably millions of black-striped salema, another native fish. I watched a SCUBA diver ‘freefall’ into them very slowly and instead of scattering they slowly opened up a spiralling vortex (widest near the top and closed at the bottom) and as he passed through, closed behind him and swallowed him whole. I did the same, although I couldn’t hold my breath long enough to have them fully cover me and tried to take some photos then a friendly SCUBA diver offered to take my photo. I signalled I was out of air and would come back and he waited for me to catch my breath and plunge down 10m to hand him my camera. Pretty nice! The rest of the snorkel was more tropical fish, a bit of playing with sea lions and amazing blue waters. Because it’s so well protected, the visibility was more than 15m.
From Santa Fe island it was a short haul over lunch to nearby South Plaza, from which you could not only see North Plaza but also Santa Cruz and Gordon Rocks, where I’d SCUBA dove so long ago. This island had some really cool cactus trees, more land iguanas, and yet more cliffs. We also came across a sea lion skeleton bleached white in the sun right beside the decaying remains of a land iguana. Hopefully not a portent for the future. There were plenty of other things to see here, too, but of course we’d seen most of them already. This was becoming a common theme for the second last day of the trip. We drew a bit of a short stick in that, for the third time on our voyage we had to go get more fresh water. Usually that was done the next day, or at least it was when we first boarded and if it had been we would’ve already been flying back to the mainland when that happened. That said, it gave us a really spectacular last evening on board. First we had a really nice dinner and a farewell cocktail, were finally introduced to the crew (strange to do this on the last day instead of the first; I actually knew more of the crew’s names than our guide by now), and then went on deck. First there were flying fish jumping in and out of the water. The sea lions came and would very occasionally sprint after them. For such lazy creatures, I have never seen ANYthing move so fast. Pelicans, of course, were there all along occasionally swooping from their perch on our bow to grab a fish or two.
What had brought us out first though were the Galapagos sharks: there were a few of them circling us. As the sea lions came (the two animals are definitely not friends) the shark numbers escalated. Soon there were around 8, and before we knew it, 20-30 of them. The skeleton we had seen that afternoon was probably from a sea lion that had been fatally wounded in such an encounter as this, so to see them both swimming together was rather tense and we thought at any moment there would be an attack. They’d swim close to each other and usually the sea lion would veer off and the shark might also veer slightly but wouldn’t chase it. Apparently the sea lions are faster in the long run. Then there was once where a sea lion and a shark were swimming a head-on course and as they grew closer everybody came to the one side of the boat. The distance closed at a frustratingly lazy pace and they came nose to nose before each veered in the opposite direction, equally lazy. What was going on here was beyond me. Did the sea lions know the sharks weren’t hungry? Was it a size issue where both shark and sea lion knew that the sea lion was too big for the shark? Still, there were 30 of them, you’d think there would be a fight somewhere but no. It was still cool to watch but I was feeling tired and sick and thought it might be in my best interests to go below although I was SURE as soon as I did I would miss the action. I convinced myself any chase would take the action far from our lights and we’d not see anything, so I said goodnight, told everybody that as soon as I went down they’d see a manta ray (and to thank me in the morning) and went below.
I don’t know if I’ve written it here or not but there are three things I’d really love to see SCUBA diving: whale shark, manta ray, and octopus. And I’d be quite content seeing a Manta Ray from the surface, too, and had made this remark more or less every night. So when I was downstairs, just getting undressed, and Bjorn came downstairs and said “Manta Ray” breathlessly no more than three minutes after I’d said goodnight, I didn’t believe it right away but nonetheless was still zipping up as I stumbled the last few steps onto the deck. He was gone and I was bitter. In the three minutes I’d been below I’d not only missed a Manta Ray swimming by the boat but also, apparently, a bit of a scrap over a fish that a sea lion had caught – the blood of which had brought out a virtual school of sharks. I stayed up there for another half hour but nothing else happened and I went to bed dejected. It was now our final morning and I had not slept well as I had a fever and a bizarre dream in which I read a “children’s book” about a guy going around the world in a flying car that was laced with communist propaganda and words like “Proletariat”. I remember thinking in my dream, “Who on earth is going to read this?” but then the end came and it turned out the book was written by a soldier in World War I and this was HIS dream for the future. So then I woke up and in my fevered state wondered whether I would someday encounter this book and what I would do if I did and couldn’t shut my mind off of that.
But I digress. It was our last morning on the boat and for that matter in the Galapagos. Enrique was waking us up at 5:45 AM to go ashore on North Seymour island and walk around before heading for the airport. I was very seriously considering not going but I dragged myself up and out. It was an important stop for those who were only aboard for 5 days as it was their only chance to see frigate birds, but as you know, I already have plenty of photos of frigate birds not to mention everything else on the island. They were lucky to see a solitary red-footed booby, usually only viewable in Genovesa, and there were still other creatures to photograph including some mating blue-footed boobies, but my camera only came out for the sunrise, a final photo of Angelique, and a photo of a gull and a sea lion together. Not that it wasn’t nice, but how many photos of the same thing can I have? Back on board, I managed to down a pancake and some fruit and then we hauled our stuff up, said our goodbyes, and Enrique brought all but three of us to the airport. A three hour wait and we were on a plane, flying away from the Galapagos as all the many strange species of birds below us had never managed, and on our way to Guyaquil. The plan was to try to get a bus ASAP for Cuenca because Bjorn had only a bit of time left before heading to Europe and I needed to get back on track for making Buenos Aires by July. It went flawlessly. We got off the plane, got our backpacks and walked out the terminal just in time to catch a passing local bus to the bus terminal. At the terminal we got tickets for a bus leaving for Cuenca in ten minutes, just enough time to get upstairs and to the bus, and got it for $6 where the regular price is $8. The man boarding asked where I was from and when I said Canada, he said he’d like to get there someday. Something in the way he said it sounded determined rather than dreamy and I replied that I was sure he would. You’d better believe it, he said, and we were on our way.
A few of our new passengers had been worried about the trip that they had booked. Was that first day in the highlands of Santa Cruz an example of what the rest of the days held? We couldn’t guarantee anything, the Israelis and us, but we told them that every other day on the trip had been great. The plan for Friday, their second day aboard, was to arrive in Floreana, one of the older islands in the south of the archipelago, and after a short trip to the old Post Office Box and a pirate tunnel we’d be snorkelling. Then it would be lunch time, and we’d go around the island to one of the best snorkelling sites in all of the Galapagos at Devil’s Crown. There’d be a short break to check out a flamingo lagoon and then go snorkel some more off the beach. With all that snorkelling, three times in all (hence the Springsteen reference) what could go wrong? The Post Office box was pretty cool – there were stack upon stack of postcards, most of which were from the US which is surprising considering that we’ve met no Americans here on the Galapagos. Someone in the group remarked grumpily that the Americans never wrote their country on the postcards which I had to laugh at: surely EVERYbody in the world must know the TN means Tennessee, USA? Or CA is California and not Canada? As I looked through the postcards I saw this was mostly true. I digress, however; the post office box was a place where passing ships would leave mail going in a different direction and pick up mail in the direction they were headed. Today, people leave postcards and letters for home and if another traveller comes across one for their home they hand deliver it. I found one, and in fact was the only person in our group to do so, from Saskatoon. It said simply “Hotter than Hades - Dick” and isn’t properly addressed but I’ll try to find its recipient when I get home. Hopefully someone will do the same with mine.
From there we walked, as promised, to the pirate cave which actually connects on the other side to the sea. The first resident of the island, an Irish guy, used to use it to store rum that he got by trading pirates for vegetables he grew. Pretty good bargain all around, I’d say. No scurvy for no boredom. At last it was time for snorkelling and unfortunately the visibility was very poor. On the plus side, one of the Swiss had an underwater enclosure for the Canon G10 that didn’t fit his G11 but passably fit my G7 so he let me use it in exchange for whatever photos I might take underwater. The visibility wasn’t that great but I did manage to get some cool photos of a sealion that was playing with us. I also saw a baby scorpion fish swimming right in front of me which was something I’ve never seen before. We went snorkelling again on Devil’s Crown, which is a caldera of rock offshore and the snorkelling was much better there. In fact, there were three snorkels that day which was pretty cool – snorkelling was quickly becoming my favourite part of the Galapagos because there were a larger list of things I hadn’t yet seen. On land, I could pretty much cross off all the birds that are endemic here and all I really had to see yet was some tortoises in the wild. In the water however, were turtles, sharks, manta rays, and so on. And having a camera made it new again, in a way, because now I wanted to get photos of all the things I had seen as well.
We maximized the day by going back to the island on Cormorant Point and staying right until 6:00, which is the latest you’re allowed to be on the island. We walked past a flamingo lagoon and to another beach where turtles come in to nest but the surf was too much to see them so we wound up looking at crabs instead. I figured that since I had my crab photos I’d try to be arty and use a slow shutter to make the water wispy but with limited success at best. Then we walked back to the other side and had one last snorkel in very poor visibility where I saw basically nothing. That said, I did have an interesting encounter with one little fish (maybe 5 cm long) that took a liking to me and swam all the way up the rocks and then back to the beach. I felt bad leaving him alone in the water, little Nemo, after having him swim most of the way right in front of my mask, but there was nothing to be done about it. Hopefully he’ll be alright. We sailed that night to Espanola Island, which is the oldest island that we can visit and probably the nicest beach we’ve seen here in the Galapagos, which is saying something. That is, of course, if you don’t mind sharing it with the many sea lions and marine iguanas. Just off Espanola was some of the best snorkelling I have done, too. I found a tiger snake, a Mustard Ray, and best of all, a Green Sea Turtle. I’d had to go a little out of the way to find the turtle but it was worth it and I got some exciting photos with the incredible visibility. On the afternoon landing we took a walk around the island and enjoyed beautiful views from the cliff tops not to mention crossing the last major bird off our list: the albatross. These two days definitely kicked up the second half of the trip a serious notch and we were again excited for the remaining few days. Be sure to view photos from this island, too, as they are some of my favourites from the Galapagos.
We landed back on Santa Cruz at about 8:30 AM, after a two-hour trip on some very rough waters from Isla Isabella. There, on the dock, was a smiling Freddy, wanting to know how our trip was. I have to admit, reputation or not, I like the guy. But my first question after the greetings was, “Do you have my camera?” “Yes, yes, it’s at the hotel,” and he waddled us over to the Castro where, sure enough, my camera awaited as I’d left it. I was happier than ever to be on Santa Cruz and in the Galapagos when this memory lapse had hit. I’m pretty sure anywhere else in Ecuador and it would have been gone, but the hotel staff were friendly, honest, and helpful and I could’ve hugged them. I need a new camera, it’s true, but there wasn’t a chance of getting a decent one here on the Galapagos and even if there were, it’s not likely I’d have got a decent price. Bjorn and I set out to look around the town – my foot was still sore and I was limping worse and worse as the exploration continued. I found a couple stores still open during the afternoon (most are open early in the mornings and then in the evening when the boats return) and one for $120 that didn’t look all that professional and another for $130 that also included photos of the dive. Naturally, I got the price of the professional dive company down to $120 and I was relieved to know that I would, in fact, get to dive the Galapagos.
We didn’t do a lot else that Saturday besides relax and enjoy hanging around in Puerto Ayora. We found a good burger shop, we had a few cold Coca Colas, and recuperated from Isabella, the trip from Montanita, and in advance for the 8 day boat trip we were set to take on Monday. The next morning, I was up early and went over to the dive shop to take my SCUBA trip. I realized as I saw everyone eating that I hadn’t had breakfast and an English guy named Nick spotted me the $4 to have some cow’s stomach with rice. Obviously we didn’t know what it was when we’d ordered it and I tried my best to chew it into something digestible but failed. Also on the boat was a guy from Medicine Hat that talked pretty much non-stop (but was friendly) and two Israelis that I discovered were also going to be on our boat the next day: Shiri and Erez. They seemed friendly and were not geriatric which was a promising sign for the boat trip. There are no bad dive sites here in the Galapagos, but I’d heard many people raving about Gordon’s Rocks. In fact, a whale shark had even been spotted there just the day prior. I managed to talk the company and other divers into making the first dive at Gordon’s Rocks and the second, as scheduled, on North Seymour Island, so I really did get a complete experience here.
The Gordon’s Rocks dive started a bit rough. The visibility was not too great and aside from some white-tipped reef sharks and a scorpion fish, we didn’t see much. The current was incredible, and we were pulled along the rocks at a fantastic speed, not to mention that there was some pretty impressive surge bobbing us up and down. There were a few beginners on the trip, specifically Nick and Erez, and they were out of air while the Canadian and I hadn’t even used half our tank so we all ascended and boarded the boat. I was pretty disappointed as usually those with air left continue, but the boat took off and dropped us off at a second dive site on the Rocks, which was even better than just letting them ascend without us. We were not down three minutes when the dive master, Alejandro, rapped anxiously on his water tank with a diving knife. There, larger than life (and quite capable of putting an end to any of ours, incidentally) were two Hammerheads emerging from the murky water literally 6 metres behind us. I’m not great at judging sizes but they were large enough to swallow us whole. We watched as they slowed and one continued while the other turned a corner, bringing it within two-three metres of me as it swam past, eyeing us. I wouldn’t have recognized it right away as their distinctive head doesn’t have that hammer shape from the side (it just tapers strangely) but as it started to swim away from us the head became crystal clear.
Hammerheads are sometimes called the garbage cans of the sea because they’ll supposedly eat anything. License plates, humans, and SCUBA divers. However, it is considered mostly safe to dive with them here in the Galapagos because they have an abundance of food that they actually like hence I don’t believe there have been any hammerhead attacks. The other notable thing on this dive was a sea lion hunting a school of fish and around the rocks, which was really something to see. Back on the surface, we were beaming to the others’ dismay and headed out to North Seymour Island determined to see, well, more. On that dive, we saw spotted eagle rays mating, some turtles, huge schools of barracuda, jackfish, and tuna, and another sea lion much closer than last time. It was a lot more tranquil here and the visibility much better than our first site and everybody came up smiling. The diving here was amazing. The final stop was a snorkel which may have been even more exciting than the second dive as I came across a family of sea lions that were very playful – and I had them all to myself as I couldn’t get anybody out to come join in the fun. They would swim up to me as though checking out their reflection in my snorkel mask and then dart away, sometimes spinning around. I would hold my breath and try to swim under the water like them by waving my body which they seemed entertained at, and I used some of the tricks I’d learned in New Zealand like swimming in circles which they loved as much as the dolphins did. I saw the Canadian swim by with his underwater camera and made the tough choice to try to swim over to him and leave my friends and sure enough when we came back they were nowhere to be seen. It was just for me, I guess.
From there we got dropped off on northern Santa Cruz and taxied back to Puerto Ayora. That ended what wound up being one of the best SCUBA trips I have done – ever. I was back in town by three and went to see Bjorn at the hotel; the Canadian guy and Nick came shortly after so I could pay Nick back for breakfast and grab photos from the canuck. Then it was a trip to the bank to extract the last payment for Freddy and our sail trip, a stop at the dive shop to load the dive photos onto my memory stick, and out for dinner. There is a strip of cheap restaurants here that mostly grill meat to serve with... you guessed it, rice and beans (menestra). We met up with the two guys there later – after taking the all-important step of procuring a bottle of rum and 4 L of Coke for our trip – at a Chinese restaurant on that street for some reason. The food was mediocre at best but as a result of a miscommunication, I got to eat extra food Nick had ordered for $4 instead of $6. We went to Nick’s hotel later and sat on their patio with a few more beer and a couple Aussies then went out looking for the canuck and his Ecuadorian friends but came up empty in the latter search. It was getting pretty late and Bjorn and I had to be up early to catch our boat in the morning so we went back and packed, had breakfast the next morning, and for a stark change Freddy was right on time. We loaded in the taxi and took off for the airport where we met our guide and were taken – after running into the kiwis one last time – onboard the Angelique. Our trip to the Galapagos had really begun.
Most renowned explorer in human history Christopher Columbus. Scourge of the Spanish Sir Francis Drake. Fearsome pirate (and delicious rum) Captain Henry Morgan. Legendary travel and photo journalist Dean Katsiris. What do we all have in common? We spent inordinate amounts of time enjoying the paradise that is Bocas del Toro, my first stop in Panama and one of the most magnificent places I have visited, in Central America or anywhere. The name, which in English means “Bull’s Mouths”, comes from the fact that when Columbus arrived the surf funnelling through rock chambers on shore made snorting sounds, something I would witness on Red Frog Beach without realizing the significance a few days later. As for the pirates, well, it’s an archipelago of islands with thick mangroves and shallow reef perfect for hiding fleets of ships not to mention running your adversaries on the ground or staging ambushes. And myself? Well, I would be snorkelling in dolphin-infested waters, SCUBA diving walls of reef, surfing the perfect waves at Black Rock, catching water taxis to nightclubs on other islands, reclining on pristine beaches with a world-renowned (Island Magazine, June 2009) Pina Colada, and more. Of course, first I had to get there.
Getting There
Crossing the Costa Rica-Panama border was pretty easy, especially compared to the Costa Rica-Nicaragua border. We (Phil and I) crossed the big steel bridge at Sixaola with loosely spaced 2x4s serving as the deck of the bridge, feeling like refugees straggling across to a new life. I asked the customs officer to place my exit stamp on page 20 rather than 21 as my passport is growing short of blank pages and some countries require full-page visas. Instead, he stamped the empty page 6. One last middle finger from Costa Rica. On the Panama side they were surprisingly rigid about proving continued travel, which is the first time I have encountered that although it is supposedly necessary for every country. I employed a mixed dose of semi-fluent Spanish and completely illiterate foreigner as I explained that I was leaving for Colombia by boat and from there to Ecuador by bus and managed to get admitted into the country. Others had to buy a bus ticket to San Jose or elsewhere in Costa Rica that they had no plans of using which only serves to underscore how pointless it is to insist on proof-of-exit. Then we were in Panama, at last.
They have shuttles that run from the border to the ferry terminal for $10 as we learned from a rude man that insisted we were idiots if we didn’t go with him – there was no hope of getting there any other way, it would cost the same and take 3 hours. Au contraire mes amis, we caught a public bus to Changuinola (80 cents) and then another to Almirante (90 cents) and arrived just over an hour later and at 1/5 the cost. From there, a local walked us to the ferry terminal where we paid $6 to bring us to Isla de Colon in Bocas del Toro. Jez was still there, and it was good to have the three amigos back together for one last night (he had to catch a plane to Venezuela in two days from San Jose, Costa Rica). We also hung out with a Quebec girl and two Swedes that we met at our hostel, Mondo Taitu. Backpackers again, it was nice to be back among travellers and in a cool hostel where we could meet people. The town here has a very backpacker-friendly vibe with lots of cheaper restaurants, local eateries, laundries, bars, and dive shops. Walking down the streets you’re sure to have somebody ask what you’re up to today and if you’d like to take their boat to do it.
Old Friends and Hookahs
We had a big night out with Jez starting as all nights do with cheap drinks at the hostel and then over to the Iguana bar, which was a fun night for all involved and we met yet more cool people. I should also mention that after our two-country search for fedoras, Jez had finally found one that was pretty sweet. That left Phil and myself on the hook, but here in Panama they take hats pretty seriously (hence the Panama Hat) and I found one for myself that will hopefully become a staple of my travel outfit. If nothing else, it should keep the scorching sun (and it IS scorching here) off my face a bit. The next morning we were up early to wish Jez a good trip as it’s doubtful we’ll be seeing him again unless he visits Canada at some point, although I believe we’ve planted the seed for including Colombia in his travel plans. Either way, hopefully he’s safely in Venezuela and having a great time now. It had started out pouring rain that morning but eventually stopped and remained overcast, so there wasn’t much except to explore the town a bit and see what there is to see. Some cool art, some cheaper restaurants than we’d found the night prior, and every supermarket owned by the Chinese.
That evening we went out because our Iranian friend wanted to have that flavoured tobacco out of the pipe that I’ve seen a million places in Asia and always thought was some sort of illicit drug. Turns out that nope, it’s just steam and flavoured smoke (apples in our case) that you taste when you breathe out and so we sat around with the girls (Swedish/Swedish-Iranian, Canadian, and German) with a beer and they passed around the hose. I didn’t mind it though I certainly wouldn’t want to make a habit of it. On the way home, Phil got a salsa in the streets lesson from Roshe and we almost had some street food. Street food! Yes, we’re definitely backpacking again. Here, they have “Sandwich guy”, “Meat-on-a-stick man”, and “The Chicken Lady” with their food carts and I have to say it’s a good and cheap way to top up the tank though we wouldn’t do so until tomorrow.
The Snorkel Trip
They run a pretty standard snorkel trip here, and I was aboard one that morning. First, they take you to Dolphin Point, where you would have to be blind to miss the dolphins swimming around and jumping out of the water. Unfortunately, capturing this on film proved to be quite a tall order but from there we went out to Coral Caye and did some snorkelling. Because Bocas is at the mouth of a river, visibility here is rarely better than mediocre but it was good enough for shallow water to see some neat things. Our American roommates had a plastic bag that sealed for taking a camera snorkelling and I chanced mine to take a few underwater photos. The plastic has to be pulled taut, however, or the effect is to warp time and space itself. Far too quickly, everyone was back on the boat and ready to go to our next stop: the beach. I don’t really understand why all these people came out on a snorkelling trip when all they wanted was to go to the beach but I didn’t want to hold everybody up so I got back on board too.
Before the beach however, was lunch. They took us to a place for lunch alright. Spaghetti? $18!!! Really. I definitely was NOT going to eat there but I went over and talked to the store owner next store and found that their Snickers bars were a much more reasonable $1. I joked that it was for lunch and mentioned how crazy the prices were at the restaurant and she mentioned that she had some empanadas and sweet banana bread available for 35 cents/each. So my lunch turned out to be three empanadas (filled with egg and spices and a bit too much salt) for $1.05. Getting back on the boat our ‘tour guide’ who didn’t speak English started telling us what was going to happen next (yes, in Spanish) and I got to play the very fun role of interpreter for the Americans as there were no other English/Spanish speakers on the boat. There are days when you feel like the goal of fluency in Spanish is hopelessly out of reach and other days where you realize how far you’ve come. When Phil and I arrived, we were in the same shoes as these Americans and now here I was translating for them.
Red Frog Beach Club
At Red Frog Beach some were shocked to learn that they had to pay $3 to get in. If you get one of these snorkel tours from the guys on the street, they’ll tell you anything to get you on board. Cooler with ice? Of course and maybe a free beer too! Admission included? Definitely! Cost is $15? Yes, yeeeeesss! In the end, it’s $20 plus $3 admission which is the same cost as the much more reputable Jampan tour – except I believe that they actually have a nice boat, cooler, and stick to their promises. Next time. The beach is so named for the indigenous red frogs (maybe a bit bigger than your fingernail) that are in the jungle here, and although it is $3 it’s a pretty nice beach. We hung out there for the remainder of the afternoon and then went back to wait for the boat. However, on the walk back I was extremely lucky to get to see a three-toed sloth on the forest floor with her baby. Generally, you’re lucky to see them in a tree as they only come down about once a week to expel their slow-digested food (incidentally, I’m not convinced that there’s a working one on the whole island; your money at work) but here I was looking at two of them! Cool. We finally got back on the boat, waited for the woman traveling with her Chihuahua to finally come back to the boat, and went back to Isla Colon.
Surfing Brazilian Coladas
Wednesday nights the infamous Aqua Lounge has its Ladies’ Night and EVERYBODY in the town goes there. It’s on the next island over, a $1 taxi trip away, and consists of a bar, dance floor, and a floating platform with a large hole in the centre for swimming – or jumping from the roof. I have to admit I think it’s pretty awesome to boat to a bar and then back. In fact, I think that the whole concept of boating everywhere is about as close to living in Venice as you can get in this hemisphere. Do I sound like I’m in love with this place yet? We boated early the next afternoon to Black Rock, off Isla Carenero (Columbus named it that because this is where they careened their boats on their sides to clean the hulls) with surf boards in tow, and the boat took us right out to where the waves were breaking for $2. I’m not a great surfer or even a good one, but I know what constitutes a good wave and these were probably the best I had ever encountered for my skill level. They were taller than anything I’d surfed before, which made it a challenge, but they broke beautifully, slowly, and ran for a healthy amount of time before waning. Unfortunately, the previous evening combined with my genetic propensity for mal-de-mer resulted in two stomach-emptying sessions out there in the waves before I rode a wave in to the shores of Carenero.
The beach was something out of a fantasy novel or at least the opening scene to some cheesy adult movie. It wasn’t that this beach was so incredible but the fact that there were six Brazilian models doing an impromptu photo shoot coupled with the fact that I was happy to have solid land under my feet. Seriously, these girls were Maxim-grade good looking and were striking poses on rocks, with trees, in the water with one leg lifted daintily to the sky, and laying on the sand with head cradled in hands. I won’t lie to you, I propped my surf board against a tree, laid down on the pier and enjoyed every minute of it. They left far too soon, and were replaced with Mike (the American that Phil and I had come out surfing with) followed thereafter by Kyla and Eric (the two Americans I’d gone snorkelling with). I went to refill my stomach at the nearby Prickly Pear and got talking with the owner as I sipped my Coke and ate my burger whereupon he showed me the article of Islands magazine that constituted his 15 minutes of fame and my excuse to try one of his now-famous pina coladas. It was more than worthy of renown: he freezes pineapples and then blends them with coconut and rum (no ice) to make a sweet and syrupy cocktail of deliciousness.
Bedbugs!
The next morning, I moved rooms finally. After the first night I woke up with over 20 bites running from my pinky all the way up my arm and a few elsewhere as well. I’d gone to reception to tell them I thought I had bedbugs not expecting much of anything but unlike many other hostels, they took it quite seriously. They were in my room steaming the bed, wood, and anything else for almost two hours. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough and the next morning I awoke with even more bites on my back, stomach and legs and two others in the room (Kyla and Eric) also had a couple. I was now over 50 bites and calling them itchy is like calling Everest a hill. They were back in the room that afternoon steaming the other beds too. Phil had escaped any bites which we postulated was due to his mosquito net, though I don’t fully which gave rise to the theory that it was ants or (sorry Nicole) spiders. I don’t think so, however, not in these quantities and configurations. When I finally moved, the hostel owner offered to wash and dry all my clothes for me and anything that had touched the bed. The rest I left in the sun to burn the creatures out and that was the end of that particular bedbug episode. Or so I hoped.
Japan Attacks
Mondo Taitu, which was the hostel I stayed at, is well known because its owners make a pretty good effort to arrange some cool themed parties, and Friday nights start with them here in Bocas. That evening was Sake Bombs and with your bomb you got a Japanese bandana to proclaim your mastery. We met some friendly Argentinian girls and I got to telling them and a few others my idea to rent a boat for the day and go island hopping wherever we wanted. I wanted to explore this archipelago more and everybody was pretty excited about the idea which isn’t really on the standard list of optional activities and soon I had more people that wanted to join than I had room in a standard boat. First come first serve in the morning I thought, but then I never counted on how explosive the sake bombs could be. Not only were most people tired and/or hungover in the morning but the weather was gray and gloomy so that idea was put aside. Still, I wanted to do some exploring as I was going to leave on Sunday and so Phil and myself (as well as an Israeli guy and a German girl named Jenny who had arrived that morning) went to the other end of the island to see Bocas del Drago, or Dragon’s Mouth beach.
Escape from the Dragon's Mouth
Isla Colon itself had not struck me as particularly beautiful up until that trip. As we drove out on the noon bus ($5 return) the weather improved and improved and it was hot and clear skies by the time we arrived. In the paradise of this paradise. Bocas del Drago was absolutely the most beautiful beach I’d spent any decent amount of time on this whole trip (Cancun was beautiful too but lacked the charm, swaying palms, and spaciousness). It just ran and ran for miles in little bays and points, palm fringed with Caribbean. To put it another way, that day alone I took over 140 photos (don’t worry, I’ve gone through and selected only my favourites). Phil and I found a little hut out on the water that was deserted so we pulled up two lawn chairs and sat there enjoying life. I went to buy a couple daiquiris. She put in way too much ice and exactly 2 oz of alcohol so it was spread over 3 cups. I’d also asked for a mixed Pineapple-Strawberry daiquiri so there was no way she was going to use the extra and I asked for it but no. I then offered to pay $1 for the extra but nope, it’s a whole cup. Fine, so it is, but it’s also 1/3 of the alcohol I paid for. Still she wouldn’t budge. Ah well. This doesn’t exactly qualify as trouble in paradise.
After soaking up a lot of sun Phil and I walked along the beach as far as we dared before catching our bus back. Dinner that night, like every night, was at El Chitre, the best budget option in Bocas with a full plate of rice, coleslaw, and choice of meatballs, chicken, or pork and a cold glass bottle of Coke for $3.75. We ate there maybe 6 or 7 times and qualified as regulars by the time we left. Saturday night was my last night in Bocas, although I’d made that claim before, and we went out with some of the new arrivals for another Ladies’ Night at Aqua Lounge including Phil’s two new Argentinian roommates, our new buddy from Chile (Nicolas), Jenny, a couple Americans, and probably one or two others that we’d met at the hostel. It was a great way to say goodbye to the island. Or so I thought. The next morning I woke up and the power was out. No ATM, no money to pay for my hotel or get out of there, but I was surprised and delighted to learn the bank had backup power. My mismatched sandals, which had made it all the way from Mexico to Panama had walked their last stride and did not escape Bocas with me. I left them there as much for symbolism as necessity and stepped onto the ferry. The islands faded and Panama sat on the horizon growing larger.
We were out of Orange Walk and on a bus headed south. Although this town had been a shaky introduction to Belize, we were feeling a bit better about things in the morning. For one, the town was alive and friendly in the morning. Secondly, the weather was actually pretty nice, with scattered clouds and even sunshine. Finally, we were moving on and as a backpacker that’s always an exciting thing. You never know what the next place will hold. First we headed south to Belize City, a city of notorious crime and danger. But we needed to go there to get to Caye Caulker, a small island off the coast of Belize that hasn’t really developed into a resort haven and thus is the perfect place to enjoy the island life without paying the costs for it. Belize City, at least by day, was vibrant and interesting, and I had a feeling I could spend a day or two exploring. Even after a man rather randomly came up proclaiming angrily that he was not our enemy, I still thought that the city was nowhere near so bad as we’d expected. We strolled through, picking up some fruit to snack on for the 1 k walk to the ferry terminal, and very soon we were on a boat for Caye Caulker. The weather hadn’t held out, but it wasn’t raining anymore. And as the boat docked at the Caye, I realized we were about to experience a totally different side of Belize.
Caye Caulker was about the closest thing to Asia I’ve seen in this hemisphere. Little wooden huts, restaurants and budget snack shacks, barbecues, fresh seafood, and there we were at the end of the dock, me, Phil, and Amy, a Californian girl we’d met on the ferry over. The three of us walked down the pier and soon enough someone was offering to help us find a guesthouse. “Nah, we’ll be fine, thanks” I told him and then it was time for the one-local-per-locale to get angry with me. “The service is free” he repeated, and I likewise said again, “I know and thank you but we’d rather find a place on our own” and then I got told that I “need to relax man, it’s an island here, you have to chill.” So he walked us to the far south end of the island for a pretty sketchy place that was definitely overpriced for what it was. And then back some more, which for me is a very frustrating process. I don’t like being led by the nose to the places he picks out, and I’m quite capable of reading signs and communicating on my own besides. Eventually we were getting nowhere and I decided to just fade to the back of our walking group and check out this one place, “The Tropics Hotel”. He spotted me and ran in, interrupting, saying, “You don’t have a room with three beds do you?” as she was explaining to me what they did have (which did include a room with three beds). He probably got his commission and we managed to get a nice room right on the beach with private bathroom and two fans for three nights. Cost? $20 US each or $6.33/night.
So the three of us, now that Amy was officially stuck with us for at least four days settled into our very nice new room and agreed... we liked it here already. We wandered down the beach to the Split, the north end of the island which was physically split from the other more northern half by the last hurricane to hit Belize. At the Split now is a small beach bar with music pumping (yup, reggae) and we sat, had a few drinks and ate some fish for lunch. While wandering around we’d bumped into some people Amy knew and agreed to meet up with them for dinner with them and their friends. We were originally going to go see Jolly Roger (AKA The Fat Man) and share a $20 Belize lobster meal but then we happened on his sister, Fran, who was eager to cut us a deal. I wound up negotiating on behalf of the group and we ended up with a free lobster meal for bringing in a large group as well as three rum punch drinks instead of the two. So the total meal, for $8 USD was two lobster tails, potato, rice, veggies, and three glasses of rum and punch. And we all had a great time with Fran, who was quite a character and seemed to have taken a liking to me.
It had been a long day for us all, and more importantly I had an important appointment at 5:30 AM the next morning, so we said goodbye to our dinner company and went to sleep. My appointment? I had to be at Frenchie’s Dive Shop by 5:30 AM to get on the dive boat heading to Belize’s famed Blue Hole. This was another deal I’d managed to finagle, though more through good timing than excellent haggling, getting the dive for $175 instead of the standard $190. These aren’t the cheapest diving prices in the world, but it did give us three dives and the Blue Hole is 2 hours away so I wasn’t complaining. Plus, after Australia, Belize has the second largest reef in the world so it was a must on the dive list. Now what is this Blue Hole? Well, back in the ice age when there was a lot less water in the oceans, it had been an underground cave chamber. Over millions of years, water dripping into this chamber formed stalactites and cave formations while the earth warmed. Eventually the land on top of the cave was submerged and filled with reef when the top of the cave collapsed under the water’s weight, plummeting some 150 metres to the ocean floor. The result is a circular opening into deep ocean, entirely surrounded by reef. You can dive in and see the cave formations, to a depth of 120 ft (40m) below the surface and, because you are at that depth, often sharks are in the area too.
I had lately been having troubles equalizing my sinuses, causing serious pressure on the eyeballs and sometimes even my teeth as I get deeper, so I was worried about this dive. You immediately descend to 40m to see the cave and after no more than 8 minutes at that depth begin making your way back to the surface. So there’s not a lot of time to get down. But it went fine and I pretty much freefell to about 90 ft at which point I had to slow down to let my sinuses adjust. The dive itself is not for amazing reef, sea life, or much of anything else. Because it’s so deep, you may see some sharks (we did) but they weren’t the highlight. What was the highlight was how entirely surreal the place feels. First of all, at that depth, you can no longer see the surface. You know which way is up because the bubbles float that way and buoyancy acts like reverse gravity in pulling you upwards, so you get a bit of sensation out of that as well. Above, blue. Below dark blue fading to black. Only a section of wall and stalagmites to orient yourself. The blue hole below looked very tempting, as though it was an unventured path that could be explored. I mean, we were already this deep, what was a few more feet (well, say a hundred) down to at least see the bottom. I felt the vague excitement of the unexplored there and that feeling, though it may have been nitrogen narcosis, was what made this a special dive.
We did two more dives on the reefs and they were both great. Belize really does have some incredible coral in great condition and it rivalled anything I’d seen in Australia. I don’t have the name of the second dive, but the third was called The Aquarium and that was very fitting. We saw turtles, rays, a couple sharks, and any number of other fish. We also stopped for lunch at a little island off the reef where I finally found one of ‘those’ palms that jut out horizontally over the water. You know them, you’ve definitely seen them on postcards. And now I’ve finally seen one in real life. I set my camera on a coconut and put it into a timer mode, getting any number of ridiculous shots before retiring. By 3:30 we were back on solid ground. Meanwhile, Phil and Amy had taken a snorkelling trip with Ragamuffin that they loved. They had met a nice and very fun German couple on the boat so the five of us got together for dinner that night at the fat man. We got the same deal (minus the free meal because we didn’t have enough people) but not quite the same meal. The sides were different, and better, but the lobster was not as good as Fran’s. Nor was the dessert and nor was the service. As a matter of fact, I had to get up to serve drinks to our group (we were later joined by the Norwegian girls). Still a nice dinner, just not quite as nice. It had been a long day, and we went to bed early.
The next morning was, at last, an absolutely gorgeous day. We had been waiting basically since Phil arrived, over a week, and here was a clear sky and a beaming sun. And the best part was, we had no plans. We got up, had a snack for breakfast, and headed to “The Split” where a small section of sand awaited (and a round of rum and pineapple). We laid on the ‘beach’ which I should clarify is not a really great reason to come here, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. The Germans joined us again, we went for a swim, and we read, chatted, and had another round of drinks until we’d had enough sun and really loud reggae. It’s hard to put a day like this into words and it’s harder to make it into an interesting story, but we had a great time doing little and, well, life was good. We weren’t going to go for lobster again that night, but walking around looking for a restaurant, the fat man propositioned us with a deal we couldn’t refuse. For $6, the same deal we had last time. Needless to say, we had lobster for the third night in a row and this time may well have been the best lobster we had yet. A day on the beach in the sun, lobster tails for dinner, all that was needed to cap it? Karaoke. And it was a great time. Amy did an amazing rendition of Bobby McGee (seriously, incredible), than I tried my hand at “Coward of the County”, and finally Phil cracked us up with “Baby Got Back”. Great day. Great time. Caye Caulker was definitely the highlight so far. Tomorrow morning we’re headed east, with Amy in tow, to San Ignacio, our last stop in Belize.
I stood on the main hotel road of Cancun, sun (the hottest it had been since my arrival) and backpack on my back, waiting for public bus R1 to take me to the city centre and specifically the ADO bus station. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long and soon I was whisking past resort after resort thinking that I wouldn’t be staying in luxury like this for some time. And then I pulled out my Lonely Planet. Phil, a friend from back home, was soon arriving in Mexico and Playa del Carmen was his first destination whereas I had dismissed it out of hand as a package holiday town. Oddly it wasn’t the reading of the town's description that caught my attention, it was the map. Here was a town with hostels rather than hotels that seemed to straddle the vacation/experience divide. I changed my mind then and there and decided that yes, I was going to stop in Playa, at least for a night. Then I looked up and realized that the hotel strip was winding down, for we had just passed the Aquamarina Hotel, where John and I stayed last time. I honestly thought about jumping off to check if any of the same staff were there but decided against it. Then it was a question of figuring out which traffic circle had the bus station and jumping off there, which was easier than expected. And finally, buying my ticket and plunking myself down on the first long-distance North American bus trip I have done since our car broke down in whimsical Winlock, Washington.
The bus ride was 38 pesos which isn’t bad at all, and aside from the fact that the bus wouldn’t start (and we had to switch busses) the ride was utterly uneventful. The road was pretty dull with more billboards than scenery, and I have to say that the Spanish and Asians have attended the same school of planning. The idea appears to be to let anyone build anything as close to a major road as possible. After getting off the bus, then the backpacking part really began. Somewhere near this main road, 5th Avenue, was a hostel and I had to find it. So I started walking. I had not gone far (though I had expected to cross one sooner) when an older man came up to me and asked if I was looking for a hotel or hostel. “Hostel,” I answered. Well, he knew of one. Thankful but on guard as always, I followed him as he told me he’d lived in town for 35 years, originally from Texas, and then went on to talk about the hostel and its namesake, Maria Sabina. She’d taken the Beatles around Mexico and had all sorts of celebrity connections from what he was telling me. I figured he was on their payroll but it didn’t hurt to look. It turned out he wasn’t – the people at this hostel are just well-loved in town and he was doing me a big favour. They were immediately friendly, the rooms were 130 pesos per night (I managed to get 110 for agreeing to stay 3 days), the rooms and bathrooms were clean, there was free breakfast and wifi and tequila at 8. Sold. My room had a balcony on the 5th floor with a view towards the ocean, air conditioning (!), lockers (great for peace of mind) and though I wouldn’t touch it, a TV. Downstairs one level was an open-air lounge with wicker chairs and hammocks, where we’d gather and socialize before heading out, the floor below that a kitchen, and so on. I feel like I’m a shill for this place now, but if you’re reading my blog, you deserve to stay somewhere this good, so here it is again. Maria Sabina, 6th St between 5th Ave and 10th Ave. Jonathan, one of the guys that works here up until Thursday – because he offered to quit and travel with a girl whose friend bailed on her and was faced with either traveling alone (she was not up for it) or going home early – wants me to tell you that they have great parties on the weekend, though my Monday-Thursday stay precludes me from confirming.
I guess I’m enthusiastic because I felt right at home here. After getting settled in my room I popped down to the kitchen and was told by another backpacker where to find good cheap food a couple blocks away. We chatted for a bit about his travels and the perils of getting in a fake taxi in Bolivia, and then I went to explore and grab some food before it got dark. It’s always easier to be in a new place during the day. I walked the length of 5th Avenue then came back on 10th and grabbed a 20 peso torta (sandwich) and a 15 peso coconut-mango-vanilla smoothie that were mmm-good and satisfying. Back at the hostel I missed the tequila but noted three of the guys were drinking massive 1.25 L bottles (they call them missiles here) of Sol, available next door for 25 pesos. Four minutes later, I was sitting with a group of them chatting and drinking an oversized Sol. Jonathan was taking two English girls out for salsa lessons and sure, I’d go along. Unfortunately, there wasn’t really a class going on that night but he tried his best to teach the girls who tried their best to teach me. Their effort was admirable but I’ve got some work to do. The four of us bought two 2-for-1 mojitos and then met up with the rest of the hostel gang at Coco Mayo, which is pretty much how every night here ended. I stayed for a while, danced a while with the group and left at around 2 AM. I walked by Coco Bongo on the way home and stopped to inquire about the price to go in so late. $20 US and I’d been wanting to check out the show anyway, so I ventured inside. It was worth every cent. Though the club was not really big enough to house it (tall but small) which I think partly resulted in people more apt to stand and watch than dance, I didn’t mind. If they were playing a Kiss song, or Rolling Stones, or Elvis, or Michael Jackson, or even La Bamba (you’ll notice that the music they played definitely helped me enjoy myself) there were professional dancers, people in makeup and suits performing professionally choreographed dances. The Michael Jackson one was phenomenal. For La Bamba, they had someone playing the saxophone live. And when they, I presume, wanted to play some other songs (otherwise, why else?) they had a skit with Freddy vs Jason and fake blood gushing everywhere.
I got home that night around 4 and slept until 9:00 or so when the light and noise or the dorm was too much. Guillermo, one of the guys in the room, was going for an interview at a nearby resort and recommended a section of beach where there is good music, lots of young people, but not too crowded, Momisa or something along those lines. I got directions and walked with two German girls there after the morning rain abated, or so we hoped. It hadn’t, but we didn’t get anything more than a drizzle before the sun really came out. And man, was it powerful. I kept looking at them and wondering how, with no sunscreen, they weren’t getting burnt. I had SPF 30 and I definitely was feeling warm. “But if they’re not burning (the one was quite fair), surely I can’t be?” I would tell myself before finally decided that somehow that was exactly how it was going to be. So I retreated to the hostel for some lunch at a nearby restaurant (empanadas I believe) and went into the hostel. To my surprise, Phil – the guy who had indirectly convinced me to make Playa a stop – suddenly appeared. When he got settled in, we went strolling around the town and found some muy excellente street food. Tacos con carne, 10 pesos each and just ridiculously tasty. Plus, from another cart, something else which is escaping me that was also very good. On a whim we booked a dive off Cozumel and agreed to wake up at 8 AM the next day to make the 10:00 ferry.
I woke up plenty of times before 8:00 thanks to a booming storm all around us. Thunder that shook the room and rattled the windows. I should’ve gone to watch, but if I’m asleep and I get out of bed, that’s probably the end of that particular night. Still, it never occurred to me the next morning that it might still be raining out there when I neglected to pack anything more than snorkel, towel, windbreaker, camera, and book. It wasn’t raining when we left the hostel but basically just as we got under cover waiting to board the ferry to Cozumel, the rain came angrily down, sideways enough that even far under the roof we were not staying completely dry. When it came time to board, the 100m sprint to the ferry was done hunched over with the windbreaker trying to shield my camera. No harm done and the ferry, aside from a rollicking ride on the verge of getting sick, was fine thanks to an enclosed first level. But the walk from the ferry to the dive boat wsa not and everything except my camera and book (which I’d wrapped in the towel and shielded with my body) got wet. But both survived the ordeal and are better for it. Now the dives. Our first was a wall, 80-90 ft deep, and it was really great. I love diving walls because of that feeling that the depth continues forever, fading from blue to empty black. We saw a turtle and a few other things before going to our second dive : a wreck. We went down to look at it and then, though we shouldn’t have, went inside and swam down a few rusted and eery hallways. Then along where we saw a bull shark, a toad fish, and yet more underwater awesomeness.
Finally, back on land Phil and I first hunted a washroom which was nearby the actual dive shop we’d gone from (had we only known). Then we hunted food and found a pretty great little restaurant that served us some great food, That was when we realized we’d missed the 4:00 ferry and had three hours to wait for the next ferry at 7 PM. So we waited, strolled around, and luckily ran across Javier Soler, a local artist/sculptor who builds fibreglass designs and has aspirations of taking them and placing them in a lake to give snorkelers something else to look at and hopefully make some money. He was a very jovial and genial guy that loves his work and Phil and I had a great time chatting with him. Our next stop was much less successful, and that was for a Sol with Lime in a can. Sounds like it would be okay, right. But then, after some grimaces, looking closer at the can verified what we already knew... it was with lime alright. And salt! What psychotic decided somebody would want to drink beer with salt (and not just in a rim but in every sip) I don’t know, but he owes both Phil and I a beer. Finally, the ferry home, some more street food, and so ended my last night in Playa del Carmen, a much more charming place that I’d ever expected. Tomorrow, for real this time, Tulum. I could stay at this hostel for a few more days but it’s still early in the trip and I have that drive to get moving and see the next place. Probably a mistake, but if I find anything like this in Tulum then it will probably not be a mistake I’ll make twice.
We left Broome just after nine by the time we’d made some stops. Our group, this ‘we’ I spoke of, seems pretty good and adventurous, but I guess that’s what you’d expect from a bunch of people who answered a poster on the hostel wall. Greg, the organizer of this southbound adventure to Perth, worked with a company called All-Terrain Safaris doing trips across the Kimberly. Normally, as the wet season sets in, the vans get shipped back to Perth by train for service and storage, but he wanted to meander down the west coast. He struck a deal with the tour company’s owner that he would fill the bus to pay for gas and extra stress on the vehicle, and he could take anyone willing on the adventure. An open itinerary, estimating about two weeks to Perth, stopping whenever and wherever the mood struck us, veering off the beaten tourist path anywhere possible, and with some experienced guides and surfers. Estimated retail price: about $2000. Actual cost: $450 plus any food, park, and accommodation costs (which totaled about $200). If it seems to good to be true, you understand my hesitation to give my money all up front.
But it was true, and I was on a bus that morning, and after a few stops, it was off to… the middle of nowhere. One of Greg’s friends, Johno, had flown up from Perth and took some photos out the window of the plane – a little ‘advanced scouting’ if you will. So we took an overgrown track and cut across fields in the middle of nowhere to wind up in the most spectacular and isolated place. There was a massive expanse of pristine white beach, with no sign aside from a washed up buoy that any man had ever set foot here. We stood on red cliffs with moon pools below, looking on it in awe. A little further up was a tidal river that in low tide looked like a brown Whitehaven beach. Hermit crabs were scurrying everywhere and we set up camp. Greg caught a mudcrab, we watched the sunset, had dinner (including mudcrab), sat around a huge fire telling jokes, and our first day ended with fifteen of us asleep on the beach… only 14 would be there when I awoke in the morning.
That’s because Johno was already up and around, of course. People weren’t disappearing. At least not yet… we left (all 15 of us) with apparently no idea how to find the road or civilization again. At several points in the journey we weren’t on any track at all, just driving across the open savannah in a direction we hoped was southeast. We hit a path, drove past some cattle stations (we had to be careful as we were quite possibly trespassing at this point), decided to head to the beach and drive up it to 80 mile beach, hopefully arriving at a caravan park before running out of fuel. It would be a close call to be sure. We found a road that looked big enough to take us to the highway, then, after a stop for fuel, 80 Mile Beach! I was feeling lazy and we couldn’t really swim because of catfish, rays, and jellyfish, so I actually went for a very short jog. As extensive as the beach was, there were people fishing along what seemed the entire stretch. One of the more experienced ones had caught something so we watched him wrestle a big ray. Mike, Greg, and I kicked the soccer ball around, Nathalie and Greg played an improvised version of Connect 4 with red and white shells, and we drove to the middle of nowhere with a gift of some fish from our fisher friend. On through some really cool terrain, then we got camp set up in the middle of nowhere once more, then Johon and I made some sauce for the rich fish (featuring French onion soup mix, thanks Johon!), and the day was won.
Our first stop the next morning was Marble Bar, the hottest town in Australia. It once went 120 days without the temperature dropping below 40 – day or night. At 9AM, it was 36 degrees in the shade… bear in mind it’s early spring. There are a couple of pools that are pretty dry and dirty but regardless, more of the group went for a swim in Marble Bar pool. Then, after a bit of a chat about the old gold mine with a local, off to Karijini National Park, where we’d spend a couple nights. I played my new harmonica with Karin and figured out O When the Saints and then I learned some body slapping from her and a beer game from Julian. Leave it to the Germans.
We did some great hikes through Karijini’s many gorges the next morning, Oct 4 and our fourth day already. We walked up and down Fortescu Falls, swam in Circular Pool and the almost perfect Fern Pool. We did even more hiking in Karijini on the 5th, making our way down Hancock Gorge which is probably the reason Karijini is as famous as it is. Hancock was a great hike right down a waterfall into Kermit’s Pool. Some of the climbing was pretty treacherous, maybe 3 cms of ledge and a 20m-30m drop, but it was worth the vertigo. Julian and I explored further down to a place called The Chute, which is a nice visual description of the place. It was like canyoning in Switzerland all over again! But soon we had to leave and make our way to Exmouth. Yesterday, the game was anyone who used the words “beer”, “mine”, and “sorry” had to do 5 pushups, situps, or jumping jacks (I probably did about 50). Today, it was writing numbers on the wheel and when we stopped, the number on the ground had to pick a dare from the hat.
The trip to Exmouth was not a short one, and we stopped in Tom Price for a taste of ‘civilization’ and supplies for dinner. It turned out we didn’t need it after all, as we hit an emu on the road which gave us all a jolt. Johno (who else) ran out and carved it up for dinner while a few of us did some repairs. So dinner tonight was free from nature, roasted in the fire and pretty good considering it was roadkill. Check that one off the list, another first. Those keeping score will be happy to know that I had my first shower since Broome that night, too.
Our sixth day came too early, probably because of the party late the night before, and I had my second shower to wake up. So fresh! I’d wanted to stop in Exmouth, which we made it to by midday, and do a SCUBA dive, but there were only five of us interested, and Greg figured we’d have just as good a dive out of Coral Bay. Plus, we were already running behind schedule, almost halfway done and far from halfway down, so fair enough, but I was kind of choked since this was one of the main things on my list. We drove through a canyon en route to Exmouth that reminded me a lot of Drumheller back home, up to the tip of the peninsula, and down along the beach until we found a great site for camp. We set up shop and I BBQ’d some steaks, which were pretty good if I may say. Better still, though, were the chocolate bananas cooked in tin foil on the coals. You leave the skin on, slit the banana, shove chocolate in there, and voila… tastiness!
We spent the next morning in this little cove just outside the Ningaloo National Park – or so we thought. I went for an early snorkel and the surge was wild. The reef itself wasn’t so great as the beach were on is used to launch boats it seems, but it was nice to get up on a beach and snorkel. I took my harmonica and went for a walk up the beach, playing for about 30 mins or so and I felt very carefree doing that. I’m getting attached to it, I guess. When I got back to camp around noon, they were packing things up instead of getting started on lunch. We apparently slept somewhere that was no only in the park (though just barely) but also not a campsite (double oops). So we were off towards Coral Bay as quickly as we could. On the way, though, we found an absolutely STUNNING beach, probably my favourite beach in Australia after Whitehaven. Naturally, we stopped. There was a long sand spit that formed an island, overlooking a bay and some of the most turquoise waters I’ve ever seen. From the sand spit, Ningaloo Reef was not only close, but walkable, and pretty unspoiled. I ran (well, hobbled – I’d sliced my toe on a rock that morning) down the spit with my camera and attempted to capture it. Then I waded into the water with camera in tow and saw a big rock that seemed to be moving towards me – sure enough, it was the biggest stingray I’ve ever seen. It almost could’ve passed for an albino manta. Another suspicious rock caught my eye, and sure enough – turtle! It bolted when I stopped to take a photo, but I got a Bigfoot-style blurry one. And this was just walking in the sand!
We were so delighted by Windermandy beach, as I later learned it was called, that we stayed the night. The reef was likewise delightful, some amazing blue coral. The shallow water really made the colour stand out, too. Meanwhile, back on land, Johon caught a shovel-nosed shark and another fish, though we had tacos for dinner. That was after Greg got our bus stuck in the sand and we spent 30 mins getting out. So, it was a fun-filled day, and the halfway point of our trip was passed. October 8th, we finally made it to Coral Bay, not before getting stuck again on the beach track en route. Finally, a hostel, a bed, and sadly, Johon was in our room. No escape from the snoring menace. I booked a dive for the next day, and then walked down to the beach to snorkel the closer part of the reef. It was a great swim. I left my stuff at the rocks, walked up the beach and into the water, and came back with the current over the next hour and a half. So peaceful and a great reef for being so close to land. We had dinner and enjoyed the hostel bar’s happy hour and Jenga set before calling it a night.
Yup, October 9th and still going. I told you it was a long way down. I went diving this morning with Ken, Greg, and Ayumi (AKA Yummy) on the Ningaloo Reef. We saw some beautiful stuff though poor Greg couldn’t equalize and had to stick to snorkeling. A green turtle, nudi branch, sailfin catfish, giant moray eel, grey/black reef sharks, and a loggerhead turtle to boot. After diving, I got some much needed laundry done and filled out postcards I’d bought ages ago to send home. There’s a bay where the sharks breed nearby, so I crossed some hills to the beach and walked along. Due to my unorthodox approach (just me and the snakes!) I had the walk to myself, the value of which cannot be understated when traveling in a group and particularly with an iPod loaded with music I haven’t had a chance to sing along to in almost two months. So I walked to the shark nursery alone on the beach enough to listen to most of Crane Wife and Gossip Diet on the way. There were plenty of sharks in the water coming quite close to shore. I waded in to about knee height to get a good shot as they’re not generally dangerous but three sharks coming right towards me made me take a nervous step back which definitely scared them off and they never came close again no matter how still I stayed.
I walked back more conventionally along the beach and went for dinner with the Japanese contingent. The girl at the counter was very friendly and she gave us two family-sized pizzas and a seafood basket to share for $14. We met the rest of the group there and went back to the hostel where schenanigans including Twister, some pool throw-ins, and some friendly Germans ensued. Still, we did manage to leave by 9AM the next morning for the big trip down to Monkey Mia. For the first time since leaving Broome 10 days ago, I had 20 mins of cell phone reception passing through Carnavon and we stopped for a thermal bath at Peron Stationm, but otherwise the drive was uneventful. Oh, and since the peninsula is part of Project Eden, an effort to remove all non-native animals and restore decimated populations, we passed the fence that keeps the dogs, foxes, cats, etc out. Where it crosses the road is a sensor that plays a recording of angry dogs barking to scare them away. Supposedly it actually works.
Monkey Mia the next morning greeted us early as we staked out a place on the beach to meet the bottle-nosed dolphins that regularly come by. It was pretty cool to get so close to them. Cooler still, Greg got us a good rate on a boat trip out to sea for some dugong, dolphin, and hopefully whale action. We went out on a catamaran and our lot sat in the boom net off the stern which was really fun. We did spot some dugongs and dolphins also, well worth the $30. Back at the campground, the neighbour’s kids played some footy, soccer, and gymnastics with me and then we headed off down the peninsula. We stopped at an ocean park with a tiger shark, turtles, highly deadly sea snakes (which we petted, and no, they still had their venom). It was nice and interactive. We also stopped at the stromatelites, the oldest living thing in the world and what they think first produced the oxygen that made life as we know it possible on earth. They’re basically rocks that breathe, but I did get in trouble for walking on some in spite of a whole beach full of them for miles. Oops. We camped, as is tradition, in the middle of nowhere again, and man are the nights ever getting cold! I should’ve stayed in Broome. We played a pass-the-apple game and Greg passed around an emu egg made of pudding, we saw moons in spoons, and after a few cans (that’s right) of wine, sleepy time.
Our first and second glamorous stops in the frigid morning of October 12 were an abandoned lead quarry and then smelter. Then, off to Kalbarri National Park for a couple walks in the gorges, a walk to Nature’s Window, and lunch. The flies here are ridiculous. The park is amply supplied to provide no fewer than 100 buzzing, landing, and crawling on every visitor. And apparently, one of our guides has seen them 10 times worse in summer. No thanks. We went, after some great walking, to the town of Kalbarri where they weren’t as bad and swam in the cold river, then sat on the beach where I’m writing this now. Or at least, I was. I traded Perfume (an excellent read, by the way) and At Play in the Fields of the Lord (also very good) for two Michael Crichton novels. Incidentally, I read Air Babylon which was fast and surprisingly entertaining, in a single bus trip. When we got to camp, we found some more entertainment in piling up the swags and taking photos doing stunts, flips, and gymnastics. Another reason to love swags. We went for some fresh seafood for dinner and it was fantastic! $10 got us grilled Perch, fried Emperor, prawns, calamari, rice, salad, and fries, and it was all great. It was completely BYO, so families would come with their eskies, maybe sit around the fire, and eat fresh fish. Like a beer garden for fish. They also had a piano and it didn’t take much alcohol or convincing for me to give it a play.
If Kalbarri impressed me the day before – and it did – I liked it all the better the following day, October 13, and our last full day on tour. Just south is a beautiful, no, gorgeous trail that runs along dramatic cliffs plunging into the roaring turquoise Indian Ocean for 12km or so. As well, a few terrific surf beaches with what are said to be some of the best waves in the world. I don’t doubt it. Talk about a playground! We stopped at one beach tucked between the cliffs, though Nathalie and I spent the entire time playing on the rocks taking funny photos of each other. We made the Pinnacles that night just in time for the sun to go down, and had a late dinner in Hangover Bay, where we polished off our remaining alcohol. And soon, we were in Perth, and I was jumping off the bus to my hostel, one of the only ones to have booked ahead – and lucky for me, most of the rest of the group wound up in a hostel ridden with bedbugs. Accomodation is scarce here. So ends my last real road trip in Australia, but the adventures are far from over, as you are soon to see.
