Monday 17 March 2008
Updated Backlog
I just updated my blog; go down to check out the entries for February 23, 24 and 26 below. ;-)
Friday 7 March 2008
Quick Update with More to Come
Hi, all. And a special hello to Tom Kedwell, who I know enjoys reading this blog with his dad, Leigh.
It's been a couple of weeks since my last blog entry, and that's because it's been such a whirlwind of activity that I've simply not had time to put fingers to keyboard for this.
Since my last entry, I've explored the many unique towns and villages on the shores of Lake Atitlan, returned to Antigua once more, endured several hot and bumpy bus rides, turned 40 in one of the most beautiful places I have ever encountered, been spelunking (Tom, help Dad with that big word), swung over a river, gone inner-tubing, jumped off a bridge, swam in limestone pools, explored a cave behind a waterfall, heard the worst bonfire stories ever, taken part in a chicken-bus rebellion, swam in a lake, and somehow ended up with a bunk in an apparently all-girls' dorm.
I've also helped get a rescued husky in Taiwan into a new home in Canada (thanks to the generosity of some wonderful people, we easily raised enough money for his flight), and part of the reason for me being so busy of late is that I've been helping with getting some of the other dogs at the Animals Taiwan holding centre into new homes - big thanks also to Brandy, who runs the holding centre and who has been juggling pressure and sticking to priorities so that more animals could be helped.
I am just creating some adoption flyers for four of the newest and youngest Animals Taiwan rescues, including one beautiful young girl with only three legs. If you would like to help distribute these flyers, please email me (my address is listed in my profile) and I will send you the posters and some advice on how to get them noticed. I have them in English or Chinese, and we will focus on rehoming them in Taiwan first. If enough of these posters go up all over the place, we will have four new adoptions in no time. You can join in to help make this happen. (We will happily and gratefully ship these beautiful animals to good homes abroad if need be, but we don't focus on finding homes overseas.)
For now, I have to finish working on those posters and writing up my blog entries, so keep checking in over the coming days. I'm heading into Mexico tomorrow, so expect a very different landscape from my blog for a couple of weeks.
Hasta luego!
Sean
Sunday 2 March 2008
The Road to Semuc Champey
I stayed a few nights at the Iguana Perdido in Santa Cruz and would have stayed longer in this fun place but didn’t want to spend my 40th birthday attending their weekly, Saturday night cross-dressing party. I’d decided that perhaps it would be more fun to catch up with some friends in Antigua, and I headed that way, but then had second thoughts and finally settled for the natural and unique location of Semuc Champey, which was also on the way to my main destinations, the Mayan ruins of Tikal and the ARCAS wildlife rescue centre just across the lake from Flores.
The early-morning shuttle bus was 45 minutes late, but, thankfully, this time I was the last one to board. I could have had breakfast after all. The drive to Guatemala City was uneventful, though I was fascinated to find myself looking out the window at one of the most violent cities in the world. Every year, 6000 people are murdered here—that’s 200 of every 100,000. The big news in all the media recently has been the hijacking of public buses and killing of their drivers for the money they’re carrying. Thankfully, we experienced none of that.
In Guatemala (locals tend to drop the City when talking about the capital), I transferred to a local bus—not a chicken bus, thankfully, but a premier class bus that provided comfy, reclining seats and a strange cartoon movie. As we headed off, refreshments were offered for sale by a dirty looking vendor carrying a wooden tray of crisps and soft drinks up and down the aisle before alighting to race back and ply his trade on the next coach to leave the station.
The ride to Coban was uneventful, but the scenery, as always no matter where you go in Guatemala, ranged from strange to stunning, with many brief insights into local life speeding past my window. I was lucky enough to get a quick transfer in an overly crowded minibus that soon hit the bumpy gravel roads that signalled our forthcoming arrival at the tranquil village of Lanquin.
I had avoided touts’ suggestions for other accommodations because I had my sights set on a place that was fairly new but already the talk of the backpacker crowd: El Retiro, a riverside hostal comprised of stilt-top wooden huts that descended toward a fast-moving but pristine river and a thatched restaurant and bar that drew you in with the sight of hammocks and large friendly tables, the sound of cool, laid-back music, and the delicious smell of home cooking that wafted out the open sides as dinnertime approached.
I settled into my dorm then headed past a tidbit-scratching hen and her mimicking chicks to the bar, to make some new friends and meet up with recent ones from previous destinations whom I was certain would also be drawn to this beautiful locale. The people I bunked with in San Pedro were there, as well as some Israeli girls I had met there, and also a guy from Johnny’s bar in Monterrico. The place filled up as dinner was served, and word got around that I would turn 40 at midnight; I was made to feel like an old friend by everyone present and enjoyed a customary free shooter from the Dutch barmaid, Marloes, who also generously joined me in several more in a matter of minutes.
The evening ended around a bonfire, which was surprisingly quiet when I took my place on the relatively cold and damp grass that circled the glowing embers and flames. I suggested bonfire stories, and someone else elected Sam, a permanently smiling young guy from Oregon, I believe, who had already earned himself a name as a bit of an entertainer. But Sam’s mind had been dulled by something in the air, and he struggled to think of a bonfire story to tell.
“Well, there was this one time when a friend and I had lit a fire, and we somehow decided it would be a good idea to see if we could jump over, and when it came to my turn, I didn’t clear it and fell in and got burned.”
The audience eyed each other. It was suggested Sam tell another bonfire story.
“OK, well, there was also this time when my buddies and I were throwing things in a fire for fun, and someone accidentally threw in an aerosol, and it blew up, and nearly killed us all.”
We looked to each other again. No one else wanted to say it, so I did: “Sam, I don’t think it has to actually be about a bonfire, dude!”
Sam saw the funny side and went back to silently enjoying the amber lightshow, so I offered to tell an embarrassing teaching story about small teeth, and another that my friend Nat and I just call ‘the Anne story’, and both raised a few cringes and laughs. I thought I‘d trumped Sam, but that was my one and only victory, because we met up again several days later, and Sam would prove himself to be one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.
Anyway, I eventually hit the sack about 1.00 am, happy in the knowledge that I would be spending my 40th birthday in one of the most stunning places in the world, in what should prove to be an action- and fun-packed day, amongst some great people.
The early-morning shuttle bus was 45 minutes late, but, thankfully, this time I was the last one to board. I could have had breakfast after all. The drive to Guatemala City was uneventful, though I was fascinated to find myself looking out the window at one of the most violent cities in the world. Every year, 6000 people are murdered here—that’s 200 of every 100,000. The big news in all the media recently has been the hijacking of public buses and killing of their drivers for the money they’re carrying. Thankfully, we experienced none of that.
In Guatemala (locals tend to drop the City when talking about the capital), I transferred to a local bus—not a chicken bus, thankfully, but a premier class bus that provided comfy, reclining seats and a strange cartoon movie. As we headed off, refreshments were offered for sale by a dirty looking vendor carrying a wooden tray of crisps and soft drinks up and down the aisle before alighting to race back and ply his trade on the next coach to leave the station.
The ride to Coban was uneventful, but the scenery, as always no matter where you go in Guatemala, ranged from strange to stunning, with many brief insights into local life speeding past my window. I was lucky enough to get a quick transfer in an overly crowded minibus that soon hit the bumpy gravel roads that signalled our forthcoming arrival at the tranquil village of Lanquin.
I had avoided touts’ suggestions for other accommodations because I had my sights set on a place that was fairly new but already the talk of the backpacker crowd: El Retiro, a riverside hostal comprised of stilt-top wooden huts that descended toward a fast-moving but pristine river and a thatched restaurant and bar that drew you in with the sight of hammocks and large friendly tables, the sound of cool, laid-back music, and the delicious smell of home cooking that wafted out the open sides as dinnertime approached.
I settled into my dorm then headed past a tidbit-scratching hen and her mimicking chicks to the bar, to make some new friends and meet up with recent ones from previous destinations whom I was certain would also be drawn to this beautiful locale. The people I bunked with in San Pedro were there, as well as some Israeli girls I had met there, and also a guy from Johnny’s bar in Monterrico. The place filled up as dinner was served, and word got around that I would turn 40 at midnight; I was made to feel like an old friend by everyone present and enjoyed a customary free shooter from the Dutch barmaid, Marloes, who also generously joined me in several more in a matter of minutes.
The evening ended around a bonfire, which was surprisingly quiet when I took my place on the relatively cold and damp grass that circled the glowing embers and flames. I suggested bonfire stories, and someone else elected Sam, a permanently smiling young guy from Oregon, I believe, who had already earned himself a name as a bit of an entertainer. But Sam’s mind had been dulled by something in the air, and he struggled to think of a bonfire story to tell.
“Well, there was this one time when a friend and I had lit a fire, and we somehow decided it would be a good idea to see if we could jump over, and when it came to my turn, I didn’t clear it and fell in and got burned.”
The audience eyed each other. It was suggested Sam tell another bonfire story.
“OK, well, there was also this time when my buddies and I were throwing things in a fire for fun, and someone accidentally threw in an aerosol, and it blew up, and nearly killed us all.”
We looked to each other again. No one else wanted to say it, so I did: “Sam, I don’t think it has to actually be about a bonfire, dude!”
Sam saw the funny side and went back to silently enjoying the amber lightshow, so I offered to tell an embarrassing teaching story about small teeth, and another that my friend Nat and I just call ‘the Anne story’, and both raised a few cringes and laughs. I thought I‘d trumped Sam, but that was my one and only victory, because we met up again several days later, and Sam would prove himself to be one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.
Anyway, I eventually hit the sack about 1.00 am, happy in the knowledge that I would be spending my 40th birthday in one of the most stunning places in the world, in what should prove to be an action- and fun-packed day, amongst some great people.
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