Dispatch Number 53 -Chapter One

To continue traveling always came down to two things, the means and desire or more bluntly if I had money and curiosity. By the time you read this the Land Cruiser, Azulita will be loaded on a container ship for Cartagena, Columbia and I will begin exploring South America. The idea is to drive to The Bottom of the World, Ushuaia, Argentina at Cape Horn, from there Antarctica is 750 miles away. The first chapter of road travels through Central America comes to a close.

There is no road between Columbia and Panama so I will sail down the coast of San Blas, a special untouched place along the Caribbean coast where the Kuna live, one of Panama's few remaining indigenous people. Traveling by sea allows me to adhere to one of my few travel rules -No Planes.

I have seen so much in fifteen months of travel in Mexico and Central America.

Central America is backpacker country where most of those I met were hopelessly trapped in their guidebooks, staying on what is known as the Gringo Trail with its creature comforts. Each stop tends to be a series of canned adventures that start by scratching their name on a clip board for volcano sledding, scuba diving or flying over verdant jungle canopy on a wire like Tinkerbell. This type of traveller seeks adventure, not culture, and stay exclusively in "hip" hostels surrounded by other strangers who mock what they can´t comprehend. Their adventure travel is a form of McDonaldization for the independent shoestring traveler who romantically see themselves on non-corporate expeditions, when in fact, it comes with a high degree of predictability and ease.

It is easy to imagine after eavesdropping on this backpacker set of them on cruise ships with pale skin and white socks enjoying the same isolated type of travel later in life. And sadly, the closest many of them get to the local culture is their guide. For me and many others it is out on the street or on dusty roads deep in the country that things come alive.

I like finding my own meals, places to sleep, and fumbling with maps. Latin American hospitality is extraordinary, especially the ease they make conversation. The stranger is welcome. The self-conscious North American who is reluctant or keeps to himself is shown another way.

In Honduras I visited a fortnight after the coup d'état. It was a rare visit to a country that had just ousted its president by military force, dropping him off on a runway in Costa Rica in his pajamas, something Latin America had not experienced in 19 years. In the five weeks I traveled the countryside I quizzed people about these dramatic events, attended several protests and was happily inconvenienced at opposition road blocks. 80% of those I interviewed were in support of the new illegal government. I came away believing propaganda works the same in every country, much the way it worked to great effect in the United States leading up to the invasion of Iraq in 2002 -everybody was behind it. In Honduras they made it about ousting communism, not about chasing terrorists through the Mesopotamian desert.

In Nicaragua I set out with a friend to explore the Rio San Juan, once known as the Nicaragua Route, as it was favored by the Americans over the current Panama Canal. The Nicaragua Route was never developed. We spent almost two weeks on the Rio San Juan in a combination of ferries, fast river boats and dug out canoes. This rustic river covers 120 miles with only three large villages; places that seem hardly changed since gold miners took the route in the 1850's. I never thought I would get so much out of walking in the steps of history. It was one of the highlights of my journey so far.

Costa Rica had stunning natural beauty. The Osa Peninsula on the Pacific Ocean had the highest concentration of rare animals, the same ones I had so much trouble spotting in other parts of Central America. In Osa you would literally trip over the wildlife on a sleepy morning walk. It was almost too easy. As friendly, helpful and polite as the people of Costa Rica were their culture seemed to lack something when compared with others in the region.

In Costa Rica bolts and rivets were used to construct, not nails and wire. Weed whackers to trim grass not long machetes. In the main parks there was a curious absence of small children selling candy by-the-piece; there were no shoe shine boys and no street food vendors. There were no flies to complain of and something very rare -construction projects were completed. Because of these things I am less than enamoured with Costa Rica.

In Central America the countryside can be stunning especially the mountain communities where coffee is grown. These places won my heart over and over. If I was a city-boy, then to live in Panama City, Panama would be at the top of the list, it has a wonderful mix of old and new and a culture that pulls it all together.

One thing I do not miss in North America is rampant materialism. In Latin America I have escaped the viciousness of materialism, shallow culture and ruthless careerism. In North America listen to the people around you: they talk about stuff. The subject of money encapsulates the the American conversation. It does not in Central America -people are first. Travel has renewed my belief in humanity and it has humbled me.

On occasion I reflect that if I ever lost the truck for any host of reasons I would promptly turn to a motorcycle and continue the journey; a consideration that does not feel bad because it would force me to travel even lighter. Charles Bukowski said it best, Everything you own must be able to fit inside one suitcase; then your mind might be free.

David
Casco Viejo, Panama