It's Not That Bad.......

Nicaragua?

Nicaragua? It's probably just another back-water country with an exotic name full of malaria, violence, despotic leaders and poverty. With a little research, one would have discovered the centre of the Iran-Contra affair of the 80s, where the American government were caught selling arms to Iran to fund anti-socialist aims in Central America. A visitor would be wise to throw out any pre-conceived notions, or ignorance of Nicaragua and experience it first hand.

As the jade-green waters curl up and over the toppled surfers, it pulls up a thin layer of tan-coloured sand with it, effectively scrubbing away the small amount of negative publicity Nicaragua has garnered in the last 25 years. Ten dollar lobster grilled to perfection is just one example of how far the tourist dollar can go, and another tempting reason to proclaim the country's coast line the best in the world. Ancient volcanoes filled with azure-blue water, Carribean seas a warm bath-tub temperature with colourful marine life, colonial towns retaining an old-world charm: Nicaragua can offer a lifetime of adventure and relaxation.

It will certainly take much more to wash the memories of the Nicaraguan people clean, as years of corrupt government, brutal warfare, and a devastating earthquake would be enough to put a permanent cloud over the future of the country. A strong, and proud Nica heritage has created an attitude of acceptance, and making the best with what one has. Perhaps the future of Nicaragua will shine brighter as the outside world continues to take note of it's natural wonders, and beautiful, resilient people.

Lost in Translation

There must be some Native English Speaker around that can translate/proofread official documents/banners before they go to press! This is hilarious!

Costa Rica

In Puntarenas, Costa Rica and it´s all I can do to write this. Like an artist who can´t bring himself to write a single line, I too have little desire to write. Full of bitter angst, selfhatred, and crawling skin it is time again to go back to the drawing board, and build myself up from scratch once more. I wonder how people sit on their couches everday and zone out watching TV feeling just hunky dory, and I push myself so hard feeling like shit perhaps there in lies the answer.

Surfing in Nicaragua

A long day of wonderful surf shook me out and now it's time to read a good book and fall asleep. Tomorrow: Costa Rica.

Night Terrors

I've had troubling nightmares that have caused me to yell, scream, and run since i was 6. Now it has softened to a yelp, and a few moments aimlessly walking around the room. Usually dreaming I'm trapped in some other dark house and I can't get out. For the last couple months it has centred around the bike, either being impossibly far away, stolen, or ripped in a million pieces, and me hopelessly lost. Put a fright into the staff at the hostel here a couple nights ago, as the walls only go 3/4 up and paperthin. For me, I'm tired and sore most of the day from the nighttime excertions. So I'm going out to surf again to hell with it life it short i've spent a lifetime worrying about what i'm supposed to be, and what i'm supposed to do, and how much money i'm supposed to make and what girl i'm supposed to talk to, and it's become a miserable mess of wasted time.

My friend Joanne just passed away from cancer, quickly slipping away in days. I'm sure she was thinking she wished she worried more when she was alive.

Nicaraguan Night

It was 1 am when I got into the closest town of Somoto, about 20 km away. The town was dead, so I elected to pass through it and found a gas station with trucks and cars parked around. It seemed quiet, until I turned the bike off. The dogs were barking incessantly; was it because of me? I sat on my bike for awhile, reflecting on the day's hardships, and sussing out the area for a nap. A small, fenced in garden seemed a much softer spot than the hard concrete, but the trucker beside me seemed awake, and I didn't want to attract attention, so I quietly climbed over the waist high fence. So many dogs barking all over town, and the roosters were crowing; I knew I wasn't sleeping much. The trucker came out and spoke to me and although I didn't understand him, I knew he was no threat. Within about 10 minutes a creepy guy in a hoodie comes over, leans on the fence and asks me for money. "No dineros," I replied exasperatingly "Yo pagar todo a la fronterra." He stares at me forlornly, and I elect to just ignore him. At that point, I decided it was ok to not talk to someone if I didn't want to.

That was until the security guard comes over with a large gun. He motions for me to get up and out of the garden, and I ask him where I can sleep. He points to the concrete beside my bike, and I instantly lay down. He stands there and stares at me, and I just put my head on my computer bag and act like I'm sleeping, and ignored the invasion of my personal space. Finally he walked away. It ended up being the coldest and moistest night of my life, forcing me to pull out a blanket.

I did sleep some, and dreamt of meeting my old friends Travis and Dave in Mexico. "Funny how we have to come to Mexico to see each other." Probably a result of having Chris's offer of help on Facebook earlier that day, Travis's brother. The morning came soon, with a truck of horn players blasting out a wake up call, and an awakening town. The chill took some time to take it's leave, as the sun slowly crept above the mountain. The painful night dissipated as the schoolchildren came by and smiled at the bike, and the farmers brought their oxen through with loads of firewood. A woman carried a gargantuan bundle of neatly cut, long and straight wicker on her head, and another man wobbily takes it from her and carries it up to the top of the bus. Everyone has to work.

The security guard ended up being a friendly sort after he took his black hoody off. I was vulnerable that morning and only cared for the sun to come up. He asked me for the catholic charm hung on my handle bar sparkling in the morning sun and in a off moment, I gave it to him to shut him up.

I had to get back into town to pickup cash. A nice fellow starts talking to me in english as I go into the atm, and he tells me he was a geology teacher, but had to quit after 6 surgeries on his neck. He was a paratrooper and trained in the US for the Somoza government, a regime that caused years of discontent for the people. He said he was going to Cuba where the medical system was better. They were lined up at the bank that morning, and chatting up a storm.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=addyr6qQ3Lc

When I returned to the gas station I explained to the guard it was a good luck charm that I had given him, and a friend had given it to me. With an exchange of $5, I had it and my good luck back. The morning ride was luxurious, and a welcome stop at a diner for breakfast. Two wonderful experiences: one, a young man showing his skill with a top (such a simple pleasure)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTs7wGnL1K4

and two, another young man with a broken dolly wheel. I asked him how much it would cost for a new one, and he said about $20 but he was saving up until January. I asked him to promise to send me a picture of the new one after I gave him the $400 cordoba to speed up the process. He happily pulled that thing clunk clunk clunk down the road. Business without borders: helping people and small business with an influx of cash to get them going more efficiently and with an aim to grow and build over the years. Like that new wheel, they may be more able to compete locally, and ultimately globally.

The Crossing Part II

I was tracked down at the gas station just before the Honduran border by some Salvadoreans who seemed to know my name. Not hard since I have it splattered on the back of the orange cooler. Turns out these guys who hang out at the borders know each other, and give the next guy a heads up, to either break the ice, or pass on hints on how to get the most money out of them. Again, so touchy about the borders, I icily told them I wasn't interested, but they persisted. It ended up being good that he was persistent, especially since I told him 3 times to let me take care of it myself throughout the 8 hour experience. As I still didn't have an actual driver's license (just a faxed copy) and my registration document showed expired (of course, I can't get icbc to insure a vehicle in central america) but it was all a lot of red tape to squeeze as much money out of me as possible.

I made the mistake of panicking with the thought of spending the night at the border, unable to go forward, or go back. I put out a facebook plea for help, and sent an email to Eddy and my mom with the cryptic phrase "are you there i need help". Lisa got on the phone to both my insurance company, and ICBC, but neither of them said they were able to send the document I needed. The next step was then to get on the phones myself; the whole time the Salvadorean guy is sitting there waiting for me. He escorted me over to a store with 4 phone stalls and a digital meter on the wall. The lady there was helpful although the first call we made got picked up by a guy in Calgary, as they have the same number as ICBC in Victoria, and the phone system missed the mark.

2nd attempt, I use a 604 number and get ICBC. That was useless.

Finally, I got a hold of Paul and Ina at Cassels Insurance. Ina picks up the phone; a straight shooter and no messing around. "Ina, it's Jason. I'm at the Honduras border and I'm in a situation. I need someone to clearly explain to me about the Owner's Certificate of License and Registration." Feeling better now as I'm talking to someone who knows what they're talking about. "We're not able to insure a vehicle in Honduras." she said matter of factly. "I know that Ina, but how can I get a document that shows a date that's not expired?" I ask with frustration in my voice. "They won't let me into the country without it!" "Just a minute, here's Paul." "Paul here." I repeat the situation to Paul, and he simply suggests to rip the top off the paper, as the registration is only on the bottom. "Ok, that makes perfect sense." I replied with a renewed sense of purpose.

So, they ended up giving me a 7 hour permit for $150. There was another $28 in fees, which normal people would pay only, but i'm special. Either way, i didn't have it, so we jumped in a cab and paid another $25 for that, and by the time 9 pm came around, I had to give $20 to the guy to pay the police officer on the side, then him and each of his helpers, so it was probably $250 just to get through the country, which i did expeditiously with a foul taste in my mouth. I will never forget having to go back into the border office and see the face of the administrator, with seeming disdain at my situation, and frustration with me. He lets me use his computer as I assure him my documents are real. "No se puede", he says. I can't do that.

We go into the administration office, where two young girls are working, one on a computer, and one with a typewriter from the 50's. We get things going anyways. Something clicks for me. I've been mistrustful, stressed and worried the whole afternoon - why not just enjoy it? So, I put my arm around the guy I hated all day, and trusted it would all work out. While we were back at the bank, my helper's brother had taken care of everything

The Nicaraguan border came about 3 hours later, was considerably easier and quicker, and i was out in an hour or so, after paying a tip to the border guard guy, and then yet another 'helper' who asked for $5 which i didn't have. I promised to come back the next morning to pay him, and i did, but it turned out it had actually changed to $10 somehow. I offered to pay in Cordobas, Nicaraguan currency, and his rate now changed to 30-1 instead of 21-1. I just paid him and decided to smile. I was on my way.

The Crossing

I had been on the road since 9 am leaving Antigua. The Guatemala-El Salvador border featured a bunch of young truck drivers holding their spots firmly in front of the vehicle importation office. A stack of papers was stuck in the window about a foot high. Still touchy from the Mexico Guatemala border experience, I was quick to tell a couple guys that swarmed me I was not about to talk to them, or require their help. I didn't want to pay them, I wanted to figure it out for myself. They complied. Overall, they were much less insistent, either as a result of the culture, or my request.

One of the truckers, a short, portly fellow with long fingernails, a jet black pony tail and moustache was laughing all the time. He looked at me and said Puto. I was already in a foul mood and on edge, and said "Puto?". He replied "Mucho", and felt his chin, perhaps a reference to my white beard. Pretty sure he said 'Puto', which is not a nice word. After about 45 minutes of waiting, the security guard motioned me over to the side door, and a young lady took my papers, circumventing the whole trucker lot. The process also involved numerous back and forths to the photocopier, and carefully handling the remants of my vehicle registration, the result of a couple months of moisture and mishandling.

The most important things to have in order to make the process quick are: $20 in local currency, $20 in the next country's currency, photocopies of a driver's license, registration, importation document, and passport. The experience is long enough in the hot heat, so this helps in speeding it up.

The ride was smooth for some time, with beautiful cliffs, ocean sunset, and lots of tunnels. As I entered La Libertad, my spirits were high, and in relative comfort. That was until I came upon a construction site, with red pylons strewn across the dirt road, attached to each other with yellow caution tape. People were walking all around, and one man was standing there. "Que pasa?" I asked. "Problema?" He shook his head "non", and pulled a pylon to the side for me to get through.

The road was rough, and steep. A construction crew with bright lights were operating here working on the bridge. Some whistles and cat calls from some guys, but I ignored it and went left along the dry river. I ended up in the middle of town, and had to find a couple people to direct me back to the road to Honduras. Three kids were running with me, and I yelled "Vamenos!" to spurn them on, and find the secret road. I find myself back at that same bridge again, with a couple flights of stairs up to a pedestrian bridge. Now there's 6 or 7 people, 3 kids, and a couple construction workers coming over to me.

I ask in Spanish how to get over to the highway. They reply "right here" in English and point to the stairs. "You guys are crazy! Are you sure". "Yes. Yes!" " "¿Cuánto cuesta?" The one who seems to be the leader thinks for awhile. "Cinqo dollares" "Ok, let's do it." 6 of us hauled that bike up the stairs, as the locals patiently waited to get through. The bridge was solid and not the least bit shaky, unless I never noticed. It was uplifting and exciting, and such a relief the journey continued.

It was time to stop for the night in Usulutan, El Salvador but there was no money left for the $18 hotel room. Ran back into town and found a Scotia Bank. Very relieved, and a little taste of home.

The next morning, Mario, the hotel manager and I had a conversation about cultural differences between Canada and El Salvador. He was quite surprised I had no children or wife, saying that by at least 24 or 25, men have at least a couple kids. The average woman starts at 16, or 18.

At ease

I had the wonderful opportunity to meet a family of 5 kids and mom in Eastern Guatemala. They were all so relaxed, friendly, and laid back. I don't think any of them really cared what kind of car they drove, or how big their house was, or what XBOX game they want to play. It was a rare opportunity to see children authentically excited to get something that would give them hours of fun play time. A vendor just happened to walk by with a basketball, so for $7.50 I hoped I made a positive difference. They were so pumped, excited, happy just to have one thing.

Sustainable Jade

Many of us revel in the story of Indiana Jones, arguably the most famous archaeologist of all time, real or imagined. The story of his numerous escapes from evil Nazis, overzealous Indians, and ferocious Natives, risking life and limb to save antiquities from foreign, exotic lands made him a hero for some. In Antigua, Guatemala, a hotspot for tourists game for cheap food, drinks, and sightseeing, a real life hero exists in the Archaeology world: Mary Lou Ridinger.

Perhaps without the blood pressure-raising , death defying acts of ‘Indy’, but with much more staying power, Mary Lou and her husband Jay single-handedly preserved an art form, brought home-grown industry to Guatemala, and created national pride, all in a sustainable fashion. All this from over 37 years of hard work to prove that jade, one of the most expensive gems in the world, was not only sought after in China, but Guatemala as well.

Jade does not often cross the minds of North Americans, except for maybe those of Chinese decent. It has not captured the imaginations the way diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies have, nor have the media or businesses caught on. To the ancient race of the Maya, piles of gold and silver would have easily been traded for one piece of fine jade. Although the gem has been found in a rainbow of colors from white, pink, yellow and black, green was the most prized, as it resembled the vibrant Caribbean waters that brought sustenance to their lands, and fertility in healthy crops. Harder and heavier than most other materials, jade symbolized eternity; a piece carved by the Maya was meant to not only last a lifetime, but through thousands of generations. Bringing luck to the person simply by possession, natural oils from their hands would bring out the gem’s brilliance over time. With the disappearance of the Great Mayan Civilization came hundreds of years of ignorance, and a shadow cast over Mesoamerica’s ‘lost’ jade. When Jay and Mary Lou Ridinger, two archaeologists from the U.S., set out to discover it again, they seemed to be the only ones who truly believed it existed.

A study in 1952 found evidence of jadeite jade near the Montagua River in Guatemala, but it did little to spurn anyone’s imagination, except for two people: The Ridingers. Their dream in 1973 was to find the source of the Mayan jade, and solve the mystery of how it was spread throughout Mexico, and Central America. Surprisingly, the more difficult task arose not in actually finding the jade, but in convincing the world of its value. The Guatemalan government’s official stance at the time was that there was absolutely no jade source in Guatemala. They steadfastly refused to believe the Ridinger’s case, and provided business licenses out of pity and scorn. Five centuries of outside influence from a host of other nations, dealing in everything from covert operations, to governmental manipulation, to outright pillaging, had eventually convinced the Guatemalan people that nothing of real value came from within their own borders.

After four years operating their fledgling business, Jades, S.A., Mary Lou pleaded with Jay to stop. Tired of being the object of ridicule and laughter, it was seemingly pointless to continue. Jay replied stoically “Never”. Another 9 years of countless meetings, public appearances and talking to anyone who would listen, Jay and Mary Lou’s efforts were to no avail. When the National Geographic article on jade broke out in 1987, their fortunes took an immediate and irreversible leap. Redemption came in the form of a well-respected magazine with readership around the globe, and brought much needed attention to Guatemala, and the history of the Mayan people. With renewed efforts, the Ridinger team set out to find the ‘Kings Quarry’, the storied birthplace of Mesoamerica’s jade. Pounding on countless rocks along the Montagua River for 10 months, Mary Lou and her team not only found irrefutable evidence of historical jade production, but a quarry of their own.

It is one of the most difficult and rarest gems to find. Several others resemble it closely, but it is only the friction of tectonic plates combining high pressure, and low temperatures that create this gem. Matching the quarry’s unique jade to another northern site, they proved the Maya distributed their bounty throughout the region by river. It was a huge celebration for Jades, S.A., and Guatemala had a stronger foothold in the World’s small group of jade-producing countries.

In 1999, Christie’s Auction House sold an antique Imperial Jade bangle for $2.65 million. Although Guatemalan jade might not fetch such a price today, it may not be far off in the future. An uncut stone containing Jade is a gamble; one rock may have $100,000 worth of jade, and another $1,000. Painstaking work is involved to extract it, using diamond-studded drill bits, hammers and wedges to separate rocks into manageable pieces. Additionally, Guatemalan jade has only received media attention in the last 20 years, whereas in China it has been revered continually for centuries. It was certainly valued above all else by the Maya, and several civilizations before them who, using only rudimentary tools, may have taken weeks or months to create a single beaded necklace.

What makes Jades S.A.’s operation today even more special is how they mine it. As the process involves only surface mining, no trees are cut, no holes are dug, and roads are unnecessary. The farmer’s fields, virtually untouched, continue to operate as usual, and the farmers themselves assist in the process, keeping poachers at bay. Their children are fed well, and receive an education due mostly to the profits of Jades S.A. Only 2 companies in Guatemala have valid licenses from the Government, so most jade that is bought off the street is either illegal, or fake. For many years, newly elected Guatemalan Presidents have come to Jades S.A. to buy death masks as gifts for visiting dignitaries. Bill Clinton also passed through in 1999 and bought a necklace for his daughter Chelsea.

One would think that someone who was able to bring back an ancient industry after hundreds of years, instill national pride, and give back to the people, would be content to rest on their laurels. Add to the mix that this person comes from a completely different country. Not Mary Lou Ridinger. Her husband’s vision continues, after his death a year and a half ago, with her creation of the Maya Conservancy (www.themayaconservancy.org). It is a non-profit organization with a mission to save the rich Mayan Cultural History, and continue educating people on these industrious and intelligent people. The cradle of Mayan civilization and the birthplace of the Mayan Calendar were set to be dissected by a new highway funded by a foreign company, potentially destroying thousands of years of history. Mary Lou went to work, speaking out to everyone from universities to rotary clubs, and the tide was eventually turned in her favour, and the highway was re-routed.

There is no sign of this exciting, and illustrious industry dying again soon, as three generations are now fully employed and involved in Jades S.A.’s operations. Through Mary Lou’s tenacity, her children and grandchildren are set to continue well into the future. One may have heard the Mayans say during the Conquest that “the Spanish can take all the gold and silver they want, but at least they don’t know about the jade”. With a sustainable, healthy and responsible business preserving the past, and continuing into the future, Mary Lou isn’t afraid to tell the whole world.

On the road again

Here's a pic of my mechanics and their buddies. Jesus and Manuel are to the right of me. They worked on the bike for 2 days straight and finally found the pickup coil. Just missing one thing: my charger wire. That was Salina Cruz.

Ups and downs, but happy to be in Antigua Guatemala. The border crossing at Tapachula involved photocopies, aggressive mexicans trying to help for cash, stamps, pesticide wash, going back and forth, vehicle registration, pay Mexico for leaving, pay Guatemala for coming. Guatemala is different, and I am enjoying the misty green mountainous area. It's nice to hear french and english and german maybe i can speak a bit more......;-) Spanish is progressing, and i've got this far. It's been a journey, and self-acceptance as well as patience, and learning about taking care of myself have been on the agenda because i have to. It would be a shame to go home because i'm sick. i ate one chocolate confectionary yesterday and my stomach ached for most of the day and night. woke up in so much pain there and in my hips i had to do something drastic - lakota. do not use this with extra heat like i did. the black leathers in the 100 degree heat just baked me but i'm feeling better than ever! It coulda been the Taco Bell.......... ahhhhh!
The streets are alive with Celebrations of The Day of the Dead.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NE7Wml7X0kQ