From the Airport

 This is the day I was to return to work.  By circumstance, I am sitting in the Tucomen Airport ((Panama City). My time here adds up exactly one week.  If you were in this situation, here is what you would have done yesterday and the day before.  (Monday and Tuesday).

Monday:

1. Mapped out a strategy to arrive at Seabord Marine, Inc. to book passage for Yota back to Miami.
2. Found out you were in the wrong part of the city. They had moved.
3. Gotten lost for an hour, finally found them after asking directions 5 times.
4. Been graciously attended, gotten Yota manifested onto a ship sailing Wednesday (Today).
5. Returned to the National Office of the Aduana to see if they needed anything further from you.
6. Found out they didn't need anything. All customs would be handled in Colon. Shipping would be from the port of Cristobal.
7. Returned to the Policia Technical Judicial to have what you supposed would be final inspection of the vehicle.
8. You know these guys, so there shouldn't be any problem.  There wasn't really, but they were clearly disappointed that you weren't carrying out your grand scheme for pushing on to Columbia.
9. They checked the car for hidden compartments, etc. It didn't take long and they tell you to come back at 2:30 to get it signed off.  It's 11:30.
10. You decide the police work better with doughnuts, so you drive back to town to buy some. You find the doughnuts, buy a dozen, and get impossibly lost. 
11. You ask directions. A crazy man jumps in your car, and says he will show you the way back. He does, but then insists on taking him back.
12. You take him back, then get lost again. You pay a cab driver to show you the way. You arrive about 2:45.
13. The PTJ gives you a bunch of documents, and directs you to another building to get signed off by the Director Gereral's office.  The PTJ are happy with the doughnuts and make a bunch of photocopys for you free of charge.
14. You then proceed to the Director Generals office where they stamp and sign a rheem of papers and send you on your way.  You breathe a sigh of relief because by then it's 15 minutes before closing time. 

Tuesday:

1. Rise and Shine at 0630.
2. Have breakfast and leave Panama City at 0730 for the 85 kilometer drive to Colon.plenty of time to get everything done.
3. Arrive on the outskirts of Colon about 0930. stop for directions. "Do I need to enter the Central City or is the Aduana before that. First stop is the Colon Main Office of the Aduana"?
4. "No senhor. You can turn off at Cuatro Altos and you needn't enter the city."  "OH Boy, this is going to be easy."
5. No sign for Cuatro Altos or anywhere else.
6. You end up in the city. The traffic is so heavy and the pattern is so confusing that there are five cops (count 'em) directing traffic at one intersection. They look more confused than anyone. You get turned around somehow, headed in the opposite direction and end up in Cristobal instead of Colon.
7. Cristobal is your final destination, so you need to know where it is. But, you are hopelessly lost.
8. You hire another cabby to show you the way.
9. He tells you that you need a special pass to get to the area where then Aduana is. Things are starting to look ugly.
10. He takes you to the building on the main highway where you show your documents and get the needed pass.  The cabby then shows you the way to the Aduana.
11. You enter through a gate for large trucks, not a peedestrian entrance, and some guy motions you to the left. After asking three people, you find the office in the building where you must go.
12. You are very politely attended.  You are told that the manifest documents from Seaboard are not Stamped. you must go to their office in Colon and get them stamped.
13. You thread your way through the maze back to Cristobal.  You find the Seaboard dockside office. Mind you, there are no signs to lead you. You hand your documents to a very nice smiling lady who makes six more copies and stamps them all without uttering a word.
14. You head back to the Aduana. By now, it's probably 2:30 PM.
15. They take 3 or 4 copies of everything, stamp it all, give you the stack of remaining documents.
16. Back to Cristobal.  There you check into to the local dockside Aduana  There your car undergoes a very rigorous inspection. After that you go somewhere else and pay some money.  It's not much. About $7.00.
17. Then someone tells you you need to have your car washed. Someone else tells you you don't have to.
18. Getting a little tired of all this, you drive through the gate to dockside. Someone points at a big white building.  You drive around it looking for an office or an entrance. You find a big ramp and drive up it and into a warehouse.  It's a very big building. You wander around for a while. Then someone tells you to go back out and come in through another door. 
19. You do so . You end up in a small office.  A bunch of forms get filled out and stamped. You are told to go back to your car.  A nice young fellow comes out and inspects it from top to bottom. You sign a paper and think you are done.  Not so fast.  Another older guy comes out. And he does the very same inspectoion. You sign another paper.  He puts a sticker on the window indicating vessel name and destination.  This is good.  Finally you arfe finished. Yota is on her way. Now it's raining. And you are on foot in a strange place.  It's about 4:30 PM.
20. So, you wander out into the steady drizzle. You leave the dockside area, and start to walk down the road to look for a cab to get you to a bus station.
21. Some guy waves you down frantically and says, "You can't walk there."  "I can't, why not?"   "They will rob you!"   "They will, who?"  "The people who live there."  "Live where?"
22. "Over there!"   He motions torward a couple of big apartment buildings.   It does look like a crummy neighborhood.
23. So, you trudge back to the fence and follow the fence line (That puts youi 200 feet father away from the neighborhood. ) Then you start to walk toward the main road.  You are wet, but,, by then the rain has let up a little.
24. 15 minutes later you find a cab..  He stops and you get in. There are 3 other people in the cab.  You tell the driver youi want to go to the bus station. He turns right around and goes straight back to the bad neighborhood you just came from. He goes a little farther and there is a Bus stop with about 12 busses parked.
25. "How do I know which bus to get on?"    "The Prettier one."
26. That would be the big one at the back of the line.  So, you get on and the driver motions you to sit down.
27. It's a nice big bus with comfortable seats.  You take a seat near the back and settle in for the ride back to Panama City.  It's about 5:30. It feels great not to be driving.
28. Aboutr 7:00PM you end up at the main bus terminal in Panama City. The terminal is right next to a really nice modern shopping center.  You treat yourself to na nice steak dinner, and then head to an internet cafe to purchase your trip home. You are, at last, free to leave the country.
29. Then, a short cab ride back to the hotel..You will miss Central America very very much.  It is nothing like your preconceptions and predjudices might have led you to believe.  Nothing at all.

CROSSING THE FINISH LINE

November 14th  froms Panam City:

Yota crossed over the Panama Canal on the 10th of November.  Independence Day of Panama from Spain. Geogrphically, that marks the end of the trip through Central America.  It was difficult at times, but worth the effort.  I don't think that I'm exactly the same person as the one that crossed the border into Mexico on October 11th. 

For the last few days, I've been trying to make arrangements for what to do with Yota.  I can put her in bonded storage, but it costs about as much as to ship her back to the states. I can sell her, but have to pay an import fee of about $2500. which means I would net maybe $4000.  And I'm not sure of the legality of that. I'd be doing business with a dealer who   says  he would do all the paper work.  But, it could take days to walk that through the beurocracy. 

It took me two days just to figure out the scheme for warehousing.  The first day here, I stood in line all day long just to be told that I was at the wrong agency.  The next day was spent driving around endlessly looking for the National Customs House, the Policia Technical Judicial, and the warehousing people.  I found all of them.  but it's impossible to go anywhere without getting lost. Nothing can be resolved over the phone. I have a good map, but it doesn't help much.  There are hardly ever any street signs and no numbers for induvidual buildings.  I spent 45 minutes looking for a street. Then, it turned out I was on it the whole time

Other than that, theres not much to blog about. I'm having some work done on Yota today. Turns out she wore out her tie-rods banging into pot holes on the way here.

The length of the trip from Merritt Island to the Canal was 7090 miles exactly.  It's 1170 air miles from here to Miami.  It's a small world, but it's folded kind of funny.

That's it from Panama....
Guy

ACROSS THE BORDER AND OVER THE MOUNTAINS

From the town of David, Panama,           Tuesday Morning, November 10th

Silly name for a town, but I had nothing to do with that. I arrived at the border with all my tranquillity still intact.  Little did I know, I had left the docking device for my camera in my room in Coast Rica. I will try to call them, and get them to send it to me in the states.  For now, I can't download any more pictures or even charge the battery in my camera. It was fully charged,so I got some good pictures yesterday. The border crossing was four hours, but I didn't let it bother me.

Later,I saw a road sign that said Punta Robalo.  As some of you fishermen know Robalo means Snook, a very nice game-fish.  Well, I decide, I better go find out what that's all about.  As you may have guessed by now, the thing I love most about this kind of trip is hamming it up with the locals. I never feel lonely. Yesterday was to be no exception.

Punta Robalo is a little fishing village on the Laguna of Chiriqui, an estuary maybe the size of Cheasapeake Bay, maybe smaller, but very big.  I approached some of the locals. At first they didn't look too friendly.  I turned around and was about to drive back the way I came.  There was this very gringa-ish loooking lady, distinguished with grey hair walking in sort of the same direction I was going . "Do you live here?" I asked in English.  She turned to me, smiled broadly, and said ""Yes, I do. I'm here with the Peace Corps. My name is Christie."     "Wow, my name is Guy. I'm a tourist just passing through. I saw the sign and came down to see if there were any Robalo around.""      "Well, I don't know too much about fishing, but there´s a little dock over there that passes for a local hangout. I'll show you where it is. You can get a beer or a soft drink and I'll go find you a fisherman.

Sounds great.  She showed me where the hangout was, the guy there stuck a beer in my hand, and I sat down to wait.  It wasn't long till she came back with Manuel, obviously a fisherman.  Manuel explained that at certain times of the year, the Robalo  school up in  the river (there are several rivers that dump into the estuary) The fish comeProbably to spawn.  Hence the name Punta Robalo. He said he would take me fishing if I came back in the morning. I wanted to come back, but didn't want  to use up a whole day.

He took me to see part of the day's cacth. A snapper and a grouper, a few mackeral and a Barracuda.  Not great by Brent Oatley standards, but it was fun and I got some pictures.  On the way back to the hangout, we stumbled across Christie again. She was teaching an English Class to some local ladies. They were in a building with no windows or doors, so I walked in and said Hi to everyone. I decided I should be a guest teacher  since the subject was English.  So, I worked on a few phrases with them.  they were giggling and happy. I think they had been making jokes about Christie and me because we were about the same age.

So. I left, a happy camper, and felt like I had brought a few smiles. I got a few good shots of my classroom experience and of a few of the locals. It was lotsa of fun. I planned to stay at a town called Chiriqui Grande, but it looked pretty bad there, just not a place you'd want to stay.  It was only about 4:30, so I decided to cross the mountains. In hindsight, that was a poor decision, but all the roads had been good up to that point.  The crossing route is highway 4 on the map, and there is absolutely nothing between the estuary(on the Carribean) and the Pacific Highway. The road was under repair in some places but not unmanageable. The problem was that it got foggy. So foggy, I couldn't see the road very well. Oh dear, what to do?

I started to just pull off the road and stay the night, but it was too early, only 6:30.  Then I got my break. Two mini-busses, like comfotable ones for tourists passed me up. They were travelling a little two fast for the conditions, but the lead bus had a flashing green strobe light on the top.  "These guys must know the road. ", though I wished they would slow down a little." I'm with them."   I followed them all the way to where  the terrain flattened and the fog was no longer a problem. ( maybe 80 kilometers) A strobe light is easy to follow, even in fog.

I arrived here in David  about 9:00 PM at a nice hotel in a not so nice part of town.  It was what I could find.  It's about another 250 kilometers to Panama city from here.

Guy

SOUTHERN CARIBBEAN BEACHES

Monday November 9th from Puerto Viejo, Coasta Rica:

At the extreme Southern end of Coasta Rica, on the Carribean Coast, there is about a 110 kilometer stretch of open beach.  It runs from just South of Puerto Limon down to Manzanillo which is right at the Panamanian Border.  There is virtually unlimited access to the beach.  There are no condominiums, no gated communities, no Burger Kings, no Kentucky Fried Chicken, nothing that would remind you of home.  ( Except there are a lot of younger Americans here)

The beaches here have a much more Carribean feel to them. The population is a little darker. The food is nice and spicy. The sauces will immediately breaks you into a sweat (if you're not sweating already) In fact the best two meals I have had on my whole trip have been here. The music tends a little less to Latino and has a little more of a Reggae beat.  I spent all of yesterday exploring this area.  The waves have much better shape to them than on the Pacific side, and there is a surprising amount of Ground Swell. The fishing is great,and the water is so clear, I can see my feet (clearly) standing in five feet of water. I don't have air cond. in my room, so I spent half the night sleeping in a hammock on the balcony. I could hear the waves breaking across the street at about 40 yards.  It was just right. Why would anyone want to be anywhere else?

My neighbor at the hotel, Jim, an American apparently can't answer that question. He's been here 4 months. And, he has no plans for leaving.  One problem, Coasta Rica is expensive, and these beaches are no exception.  My two pound lobster for lunch cost me 40 bucks.  The fish Burrito I had for supper (made with Marlin) was about $10.  I don't think I had ever eaten Marlin before. To me it´s much better than Swordfish.

I have photos, but I won't post them till I get to Panama. Right now I don't want anything to disturb my tranquillity, especially not the computer. I will put most of the photos on the side, but I do have one where I could see a big point break way far off.  I will put that one at the  bottom, and you surfer guys might get a glimpse of how it might be.  I did get to do some body surfing in front of the hotel this morning. It was delightful. Oddly, the water seems saltier here. You can float like a cork with no effort.

Love from tio guy..

Monte Verde, the Cloud Forest, and my Mysterious Place......

Posted Sunday November 8th from Puerto Limon, Caribbean Coast


Off line Blog Friday 6 November:

Today was the day to visit the big live Volcano at Arenal, and then to drive the back country to get to the Cloud Forest around Monte Verde. It was pretty much a day of spectacular scenery, and slipping, sliding and bouncing along some rough but very pretty mountain roads. I have a good number of photos which I will post at the end of the blog as usual.

I stopped at a coffee cooperative and got some free samples of the best coffee I have ever tasted. I bought a couple of bags of it. It is organically grown in the Mountains around Monte Verde. As always, my timing was off. I drove up in a driving rainstorm, and I got the feeling I was the only client that showed up all day. That happens to me a lot.

I drove right through the cloud forest coming from Arenal rather than from the main highway. When I asked someone which to Monte Verde, they said “You just passed it. So I went back to look for a hotel. I found one on a little moutain road about 2 kilometers off the main road. It’s the most Idylic spot I have ever seen. Look at the pictures and you will see what I mean.

There are a lot of people here, but they are very quiet and, to me, they seemed a little more serene than most folks I know. There are no phones or TVs in the cabins. Seem a little odd? I thought so. I had a few brief words with some people, but not much. I ran into a guy from Boston who was a little more talkative. As we parted ways, he said “Oh, I believe there is a Shaman Service tonight. You’re welcome to come.” “Uh, I’m a little on the conventional side, And I’m not exactly sure what a Shaman does.”

“Well he’s like a guy who figures out natural healing qualities of certain plants and herbs, and he can see into the future and the past to see what will work for you. It originated with some of the ancient pre-Christian Religions.”

“Oh, I see, there’s a spiritual element to it.” “Oh yes, very much so.”

Then I remembered that the guy in the cabin next to mine looked very much like a Shaman. Sort of indigenous with very long hair pulled back, and a deep voice.

Why does this stuff always happen to me. I just hope no-one bleeds any chickens around my place. There is a swimming pool, warm thermal springs, and a bar and restaurant. I will be headed for the bar momentarily. From Monte Verde Deep in the “Selve” (Spanish for Savage Wilderness)

Guy

FOOTNOTE TO FRIDAYS BLOG:

You would surely believe that I could make it to the bar without an incident. You would. But, you would be wrong. I stepped out of my cabin, and it was pitch black. I couldn’t see anything. OK, I’ll go to my vehicle and get a flashlight. So, I step down onto the stoop, and carefully put my foot down on the concrete step. Feels solid, so I shift my weight forward onto the top step. Problem was, it wasn’t a step. It was the top of a water chute built into the side of the mountain. It was made of concrete, but wasn’t meant to be walked on. Now, there is nothing slicker than a water chute in a rainforest. Nothing that I have seen.

So, My left foot, the one on the chute, slipped out from under me. Everything else followed. Right foot, arms , legs, ass, and all the rest. The chute was only about 5 feet long. It was at a steep angle, so within a half second I found myself sprawled into the roadway below the cabin. I wasn’t sure if I was hurt, so, I just laid there for a couple of minutes. Someone came up with a flashlight and asked “Are you OK?” In perfect English. Hoping to save whatever dignity I might have left, I hopped up and said, “Oh yes I’m fine”.

“We thought you were a wild animal at first.” I never heard a wild animal holler, “Oh Shit”, but, who knows?

Anyway, except for some serious looking bruises on my elbows and hands and a very sore pinky finger, I figured I was, surprisingly, OK. I made it to the bar, had a couple of stiff drinks, gazed toward the rushing river , and felt much better.

The next morning, I was sore almost everywhere. Painfully aware of my 70 years, I decided to head for the hot spring. It was early and there was just one guy in the spring. Awkward silences aren’t permitted down here so I said “Muy Buenos Dias!”. He said Good Morning. Then, I told him I did have an accident last night. He seemed very concerned and motioned me over. He examined my pinky finger, my various bruises, and pulled on my arm till it sort of slipped forward. Then, he did the other arm. Then my shoulder blade joints, then my shoulders. Each time, something would snap into place. I figured either this guy is the Shaman, or he’s a chiropractor. Turned out he was neither. He worked for the Aduana, or Customs Agency. His name was Gerardo. Between the hot spring and the chiropractory, I felt much better.


I found out that morning that the guy in the next cabin was a Shaman. There was more than one. Several. In fact. I guess there is some sort of rating system that determines degree of Shamanism. Hey, I’m not knocking it. I think they are maybe better than some of the people we call doctors. The shaman had a strange habit of leaving his door slightly ajar all the time. It might mean,”I’m here if you need me.”

Interesting night! I won't forget it.When I took my fall, he wasn't around.  I believe he was presiding over a ceremony of physical and spiritual cleansing that took from 8:00 PM till 3: 00 AM.  Maybe, I should have showed up for that. I only found out about it next morning.

The Pacific Beaches Northern Coasta Rica

Thursday, November 5th from Tilaran (near the Arenal Volcano):

The last two days have been checking out beaches along the Nicoya Peninensula. First Los Cocos, which turned out to be a little gaudy for my taste.  Then overnight at Tamarindo which was quite nice. I had a sweet little hotel right on the ocean. I could walk out the back door and there was probably 30 miles of deserted beach to my right.  To my delight, the hotel was owned by a French couple, and was a rendezvous for the local French expatriates and visitors.  There was a big French Bakery on the premises, and that meant fresh Croissants for breakfast. The only people I could find to chat up were Julian,the guy that had the parking lot concession for the main beach. and an old fisherman.

I accused Julian of being the richest man in town after he charged me 500 Colones to park for half an hour. That's about a buck and a half.  I showed him my spare tire and said he was just like the guy that tried to charge me duty on the tire.  "Wow, thats a nice expensive tire. You should have to pay." By then we were both in hysterics. I told him I would be back looking for a loan. He laughed danced and blew a whistle as I was leaving.

The old fisherman, I found about a half mile down the deserted beach. He wanted to know all about America, why we were so mean to the immigrants, and how I had got to Coasta Ricaa.  I wanted to know what kind of fish he caught,how many, what he did with them.

The next day was the Playa de Samara, a renowned surfing spot. You couldn't have proved it by me. The waves weren't any bigger than Cocoa Beach. But it probably wasn't the right day.  The most interesting people I met were 3 young ladies, an American, a Canadian, and a German girl. They were doing save the turtle work. apparently it'squite hard work. They were enjoying a day off. The beach was fabulous. I got a few pictures and a couple of video clips of it, had a nice fruit drink. (no alchohol)  and then headed back inland. That's where I am now. Tomorrow, off to the Volcano. Then to the Cloud Forest which is also nearby. After that head South. I'll put the beach photos on the side. It's easier but they don't give good detail.

WHAT HAPPENED IN GRANADA ??

What happeded in Granada?


Not too much the first day. First thing I did was check into the Hotel Granada. The Hotel Granada is an old Spanish Colonial Style hotel located very close to Lake Nicaragua. It's the largest hotel in the city, but still maintains a stately and dignified ambience. No Honky Tonk here. Don Carlos, the owner would not stand for it. A little more about him later.

After a short boat ride on the lake, a look around town, and a stop at american style sports bar for 1 beer and some fish and chips, I returned to the hotel forn a decent nights sleep. Next morning, I walked around and bought a few cheap souvenirs. Went back to the hotel at 9:30 ready to head for the Coasta Rican border.

Then a new world opened up for me. I had checked out, had breakfast, was putting my last item into Yota, everything carefully arranged for the border crossing. I noticed a very distinguished looking gentleman the next car over was doing about the same thing. "Are you headed for the frontier?" I asked in English. "Yes, I am." was the friendly reply. We talked a few minutes, then he asked, "Would you like to travel together. I've lived in Coasta Rica for 25 years." "Great", I said, '"Sounds like it would make things a lot easier."

"I'll just have my breakfast Sit down with me. Have a coffee, then we'll go. " Roland was with two friends, so we all sat down at two adjacent tables and had a very pleasant time sipping and conversing. Nothing out of the ordinary, just friends enjoying each others company. Then, who should show up, but Don Carlos, the hotel owner

Let me talk abot Roland first: Roland Becker was born in Germany. He moved to Coasta Rica 25 years earlier to manage some properties that his father (who had come here to invest) had left to to him. He had closed a successful business in Germany to do this. He spoke not a word of Spanish at the time he came. He is now a free lance journalist and photographer who does stories (mostly travel) for German, Spanish, and, I suppose English magazines and periodicals. Before doing the travel, he covered such events as the civil war with the Contras in Nicaragua and in El Salvador. He told me a great story about being in "No Mans Land" between the lines of combat. Roland is dedicated to developing other parts of Central America, but not exactly like in Coasta Rica. It should be done with great care not to sully or destroy the natural beauty of the country and to thereby deprive the very people who come here of what they are paying to see. He considers Nicaragua the most unspoiled of all the C.A. countries. I have to agree. Roland has a High Def camera which is almost always on. He's doing a piece on travel in Central America.

Don Carlos lives in New York a bit more than half the time, and in Nicaragua when he's not in New York. He is a soft spoken Latino gentleman, who instantly demands respect through his calm quiet demeanor. How he maintained that demeanor living in New York, I can't answer. But, he is a delight to be around. He had heard about Roland. I supposed that Roland had spoken to him before, but I don't think they had known each other for a long time. Don Carlos owned some property that he was interested in showing to Roland. It would be about an hour ride by boat.

"Are you up for it Guy?" asked Roland. "You bet I am" . If ever there was an easy decision this was it. So we took a long boat ride and explored the property which turned out to be a magnificent private island, complete with beautiful scenery, a boat landing swimming platform, a hand crafted stone pathway that circled the island, and a ridiculouly cute family of monkeys who bark like dogs (big dogs). It had to be the best day of my trip. But, I said that yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Oh, well, each day feels like a best day.

There are quit a number of photos for this day.  I will try to place them at the end of the total blog text because I get better quality, and some of them are pretty good.

Roland and I had a medium difficulty border crossing, but it seemed like fun with 2 people.  It was late and I did have some visions of the border closing while we were in no-mans land between countries. But, that didn't happen. It all played out well.  I am touring the northern beaches area right now.  I'll talk about that a little later on. Everything is great here.  When I finish in the North, I plan to hook up with Roland in San Jose. He needs to go to Panama also to register a car he bought in New Hampshire.



       

WHO IS EDWIN VALLEFRANCO?

Edwin was a fellow I picked up at the Honduras/Nicaragua border.  He had come up to me as I was going through the nritual of border crosssing. He explained that he was a miisionary and that he needed a lift down the road for 50 or 60 kilometers.  I looked at the load of stuff he was carrying, a very big suitcase, some other miscellaneous articles and what looked to be a big tent (folded up of course). I didn't really think so.

By the time I had suffered the last indignity of the border game, which was a guy telling me I needed to pay a duty on my spare tire, (I refused to pay it) I got on the road and there was Edwin.  "Theres no way I can leave this guy standing on the road." My  heart woulldn't let me.

So I pulled over, moved a bunch of my stuff around, and we somehow got his stuff into the car.  Edwin is one of those guys I would call a "Billy Bathgate" type of Christian. Billy was a character in the folklore of the English church. He was a lay person, not a scholar,, and I don't think he was ordained. His enthusiasm for God and Faith and for Christian love was said to be so great that he couldn't stop saying "Praise the Lord", "Ahmen", "God Bless You" and so on.He was singing, clapping, tapping his feet. Full of joy and not able to hold it back. All the time.

Well, Billy's description would fit Edwin.  He is one of only two people I have ever known that were that way. Turns out that Edwin was wotking in a tiny village way back in the Mountains. I was to drop him off at a small town about halfway to where I was going. There he was to meet his family, his wife and  three daughters. He has a son, but I believe the son had stayed in the village.  From Where I dropped him, they would take a bus ride of about another 50 kilometers back into the mountains.  From there, they would travel the next day, 12 hours on horseback to what I guess you might call his "Parish".

Edwin was Honduran by birth, had lived in the states for a couple of years, and had come back to Central America to preach and to bring healing of the spirit,and by doing so, the body. I asked him "You're a faith healer?'    "Yes, I guess I am. I've seen a lot of miracles out here."   "Do you have a sponsoring church/? "   "No, I don't,  I'm not much into regular churches. I do have a guy in Houston, Fred Carpenter, who sends me $ 50.00 every month.'

"How do you live?"  "Where do you live?"       "The Lord provides everything that we need. Sometimes we may be hungry for a couple of days, but then someone will come with a couple of big fat chickens, some vegetables or some home made ice-cream, and say  "Here, the Lord told me to give you this.  We usually have a roof over our heads, but often sleep in sleeping bags,. When I decided I needed a computer, someone appeared and gave me one."

Finally I dropped Edwin off, reluctantly, then met his wife and daughters took a couple of pictures together,and parted ways.  With his manner and things he told me, Edwin had brought me to tears. His parting words were "God Bless you Bother. I won't forget you. "  I'm crying as I write this.

Gosh, I thought, "After Edwin, anything else will be a letdown."   WRONG !!

I got to Eleni on Sunday evening, found a nice hotel, got something to eat, and settled in for the night.  Next day was to be Cigar Day.   Nobody had heard of La Communa, but the son of the hotel owner led me through the streets of Eleni to the "'Fernandez Tobacco Company". He left me, and I walked in.  The Security guy looks at me a little funny.  I'm a bit early and, I suppose most people come in groups. But nthe guard is quite nice and he hollers at somebody who hollers at someone else and out walks this smiling young guy chomping on a big stogy and says "Hi, my names Greg." I'll be glad to show you around." Perfect English.

"Would you like a cigar while we tour the plant"    "Oh, you bet I would."   He pulls a big Robusto out of a big rack, hands it to me, then passes me a lighter. I bite off then end and light up.  This is just where I belong at this moment in my life.  Greg showed me the whole operation, the rolling room, the storage areas for the wrapper and the filler, where they package the finished products, where they treat the wrapper, the whole shebang. All the time we wer touring the plant, I was happily puffing on my Rubusto.

About Greg. He was born in Miami of a Cuban Family.  Knew the Cigar Business, didn't know Spanish all that well, relocated to Nicaragua a year ago to take the job with Fernandez.  He seemed in his element to me.  The tour didn't take more than 45 minutes.  I asked if it was possible to buy some cigars at the factory. He said no we don't sell them here, but I can give you some.  "O.K, that'll work."   

He reached into the rack which had several bins, and pulled me out a nice selection of 5 cigars.  "What? Am I in Cigar Heaven?"  I thanked Greg, told him he had made my day.  He said I had made his. We parted company.   Fernandez doesn't market under its own name, but manufactures such brands as "Rocky Patel" and "Miso".   Not sure about the spelling of Miso.    So, these are very expensive sticks.

My next stop was Drew Estates who do market under their own name and is the largest operation in Eleni.  No amount of pleading would get me through the front gate.  They were nice about it. The gaurd cxalled a secretary, thse secretary came out, she tried the cell phone of the Public Relations Director, one Pedro Gomez.  She couldn't get him.  She gave me his number.  Great effort, but just could't get in.  Oh well, Fernandez more than made up for it.

Next Tour stop;  The town of Granada just South of Managua the capital.  Today is actually Wednesday, the 4th so I'm a day  behind with the Blog.  Some really great stuff happens in Granada.

DANLI TO ELENI

I had a lovely drive from Yojoa to Danli. Didn't get lost even once.  The huge mountains gradually gave way to rolling hills and then to a fertile valley with rich farmland.  It reminded me a lot of Virginia. I had, by then, developed some techniques for getting throught the police and military checkpoints witrhout being singled out. I would squeeze up close to the vehicle ahead of me, and go through with my nose practically up the other driver's tail-pipe. If it was a bus or big truck, so much the better. Once, when a cop started to raise his hand, I gave a cheery wave. He and  his buddy waved back and forgot to stop me.

I got to Danli feeling pretty good about everything, scoped out the town a little and checked into the hotel which my friend at Canopy Tours had reccomended.  By evening, I had settled in. I wandered out to the patio of the hotel and found a couple sitting, he sort of halfway in the hammock and her seated in a chair. I walked over and gave them my best "Buenas Noches."  They were both in an agreeable mood, so we started to talk.  Turns out the guy was a cigar vendor. He showed me ssome samples. I thought they were too expensive. US $80 for a box of 20.  So he gave me a sample, and after we had talked for a while, they left.

I ordered a Rum and coke from the bar,and asked for some matches. I lit up and proceeded to smoke maybe the finest cigar I have ever experienced. beautiful gray ash, even burn, easy draw, aromatic, it was great.  I finished the cagar, settled into the hammock, and finished my second rum and coke. There was a soft breeze, music coming from next door, everything was right. I was at peace with the world, at peace with my maker, and at peace with myself.  The music was from a big festival for kids and their parents. All the happy yelling and hollering just added to my moment. I got up sleepy and headed back to the room.

The next day, Saturday, was a housekeeping and rest day in Danli. I did a little looking around, went to one tobacco operation that someone sqaid might be open. It wasn't.  All I got to do was peek over the wall. That afternoon and evening I spent a lot of time talking to Selme, the head day clerk at hte hotel and watching soccer. someone had arranged for a guy to come by and show me some cigars. He showed up about 6:30 PM.  A sleazy looking fat guy who broke out some ridiculous looking little cigars,cheaply wrapped in nothing but cellophane, no box, no nothing.  I told him as nicely as I could that, no thanks, that wasn't what I wanted. I had decided to eat at a Padarilla (upscale restaurant) about 2 kilometers from the hotel on the main road. So,  got up and left.


I nodded at Selme as I was leaving.  "You're going out?"  He seemed a little incredulous.  "Yes," I said, "don't worry about me."  I noticed the cigar guy was getting into a very nice grey Toyota crew cab truck. It looked like he was getting in on the passenger side. I'm not really sure.  when I got to the traffic light, I turned left and the Toyota turned behind me.  " I hope this guy isn't following me."  I turned into a small shopping center to see if he would follow me.  He didn't, but he took the right-hand fork in the road then hit his brakes and started to try to turn around.  It was a bad place to turn around. I came out of the shopping center, took the highway in the opposite direction, headed out of town, and then turned around and came back on another road I knew about by then.  I knew that I had lost him.  I didn't see him again. So, I thought he just wanted to sell me those cigars.  I head back to the Paradilla.  Kind of nervous, but enjoying my supper.  There aren't a lot of people in the restaurant. Just one family, a couple, and myself.

So during dinner a truck pulls in and nobody gets out for a while. I walk over to the door. It looks like the truck, but maybe not.  After I look out, somebody gets out of the truck and comes in.  A pretty big guy.  He goes over to the cash register and buys a pack of cigarettes or changes some money, I'm not sure. Then he walks out and I see two trucks leaving.  This doesn't feel right but maybe it's nothing.  Well if it is something, I have to face it. I can't stay here all night.

So,  pay the check and ask he waitress to keep an I on me till I get nout of the parking lot,  I leave my lights off and creep out to the main road. There is a Toyota  truck much like the first one parked about 100 meters up the road facing me.  By now my heart and my imagination were bouncing like pinballs. The only thing I could think of was to head straight torwards the truck at fairly high speed.  I turned on my lights and hit the brights. I careened pase the Toyota and glancd over.  I didn't see anyone.  Must be my imagination.

I got back to the hotel, and Selme and the two security guards were standing right out in front. They were watching me intently.  Coincidence. Probably it was. So I jumped out and asked "Todo Traquillo Aqui?" That means, "Is everything OK"?

Selme asked me where I had been. I said, I think calmly, that I'd gone out for a bite to eat.  As I was entering the hotel, I heard one of the other guys telling someone on his cell phone "He just went to the Paradilla to get something to eat.  I didn't remember mentioning the Paradilla.  Had it not been for that, I would have shrugged it off as my overactive imagination.  The again I might mave misunderstood the guy on the phone.  I really didn't want to believe it was other than my imagination, but I'll never know for sure
I barricade myself in my room and got an uneasy nights sleep.

The next morning was another border incident that left me about $130 lighter and couldn't be compared to anything other than Mr. Toads  Wild Ride.  My spirits weren't exactly soaring, but that's when I met  Edwin VillaFranco.

                                                      TO BE CONTINUED..... 













  

TOBACCO ROAD

November 1st, 2009:

THE PHOTOS HAVE BEEN POSTED FOR THE JUNGLE CANOPY AND FOR LAKE YOJOA..

The last two days have been spent in Danli, Honduras and in Eleni Nicauragua.  This is the principal Tobacco growing and Cigar Manufacturing Area for both Countries.  Un fortunately I pulled into Danli on a friday evening.  all the factories and farms were closed for he week-end.  I stayed in Danli two nights for a rest stop.  Had Yota washed, got a haircut, got laundry done, but couldn't find any cigars worth buying.  The good ones were expensive and the el cheapos weren't worth having. I didn't get to see a factory except for peeking over a wall. 

Tomorrow (Monday) I will try again in Esteli.  I've picked out two factory/farms I want to visit.  La Communa, and Drew Estates. Let's see what happens.  From there it will be on to Granada, a (I've been told) upscale kind of town just south of Managua, the capital.  I plan to take a boat ride from  there on Lake Nicaragua, biggest lake in Central America, and supposed to be quite nice.

Manhana