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Unexpected Journeys: Going to Curacao

Posted on February 7, 2015 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 47 comments

Several months back we started thinking about where we wanted to go after leaving Ecuador. With a bit of back and forth it was clear that both of us were ready to leave the Americas. We wanted a change in cultures, something apart from the Hispanic inspired societies based upon the Spanish colonial model. Something exotic, something totally different with ancient history, spectacular landscapes, exceptional architecture and unique cuisine.

Our conversations went something like this:

“Europe or Asia?”

“Ooooo – what about Turkey?”

“Oh, I want to see Eastern Europe.”

“But what about New Zealand or Morocco or Vietnam …?”

Obviously, our focus needed to be adjusted and refined. Some people call this kind of conversation “brainstorming” but we call it “derailed.” We decided to go online and, after some reading and more conversation about our enormous world with all its possibilities for places to travel, we finally came up with … Malaysia. It had much of what we wanted including a large expat community, a variety of cultures and nationalities, was high on the exotic meter and completely different from any place we’d ever been. And a plus – it would be a great jumping-off point to begin our travels in Asia. We checked out airline tickets from Ecuador to Malaysia (electing to avoid any Malaysian airlines for the time being) and decided it was eminently doable although we wouldn’t be traipsing back to the US for a time.

And then, before we began to make the serious moves of purchasing the airline tickets and securing our initial lodging, we received an email from a friend we had housesat for in Costa Rica who asked if we might be interested in house and pet-sitting for her sister in Curaçao. Hmmm … so here’s where we get a little red-faced and have to admit that we had not a clue as to the whereabouts of Curaçao. We googled it, repeatedly, once to figure out where it was, another time simply to hear its pronunciation (Kur-uh-sow) and then to research the island itself. For those of you who also have no clue where it is:

And so, we read about the island country of Curaçao, which became an independent nation in October, 2010, when the Netherlands Antilles was dissolved. The island was “discovered” by the Spanish in 1499 who promptly enslaved the indigenous Arawak population. It languished in obscurity for well over a century until 1634 when the Netherlands achieved independence from Spain and claimed possession of the island. Shortly thereafter the Dutch West India Company decided that its natural harbor and setting made it an ideal location for shipping, commerce and piracy. It also became a thriving center for the Atlantic slave trade and its affluence is reflected in its colorful edifices which blended Dutch and Spanish architectural styles but also resulted in some buildings completely unique to the island, particularly those associated with the older plantation system.

Our readings about Curacao resulted in our sensing that this here-to-fore unknown country could be exactly what we were seeking; exotic with a unique history. We sent a few emails back and forth with the homeowner to find out more of what she was looking for in caretakers for both her home and pets. Soon enough, with very little resistance and much enthusiasm, we had a seven-week house and pet sit lined up in a lovely country surrounded by Caribbean waters.

So, what to do with December since our 90-day visa for Ecuador expired at the beginning of the December? Cartagena, Colombia went back on our list and, as our faithful readers know, we had a terrific month in that picturesque city sight-seeing and immersing ourselves in its fascinating history.

After years of fixed plans, following demanding career paths and setting five-year goals we’ve come to treasure f-l-e-x-i-b-i-l-i-t-y. We must remain mentally nimble to take leaps as opportunities present themselves. It’s become a huge part of our travel plans – or no plans – and we try not to get too far ahead of ourselves so that we can change our direction, slow down or, conversely, move a bit faster.

And as for our travels after Curaçao? We have airline tickets to the Dominican Republic and other, more nebulous plans that we’re waiting to fall into place. Our travel lifestyle has slowly transformed into unexpected journeys that require curiosity and uncertainty as the ability to avail ourselves of opportunities that may present themselves.

By Anita and Richard

Capturing Cartagena in Photos

Posted on January 31, 2015 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 42 comments

Cartagena, Colombia is a city of many facets from the ancient stone wall built by the Spanish to defend the old city from pirates and brigands

to the quaint and picturesque colonial architecture of the historic old town.

Scattered across the city are parks, museums, restaurants and churches.

The old monastery, the highest point in Cartagena at the top of El Cerro de La Popa overlooks the Castillo, an intimidating fortress which protected Spain’s ill-gotten riches and safeguarded the city.

Tourists flock to the tony hotels, restaurants and high-rises that line the fine sand beaches of the harbor in Bocagrande

and spill over to the more local neighborhoods like Getsemani

or Avenida Santander (where we lived) alongside the Caribbean ocean.

One doesn’t need to look too far to find statues and sculptures in public spaces

or street art upon building walls.

Streets are filled with all manner of vehicles from taxis and buses to carts pulled by horses and donkeys or horse-drawn carriages.

And lacking all other resources, sometimes carts are propelled by people.

The residents of Cartagena are friendly, welcoming and quick to smile as well as to share a friendly word and point one in the right direction. One gentleman, posed proudly for us after showing us around a museum.

However, there aren’t too-many freebies in this tourist driven economy and the more colorful characters ask for change in exchange for photos.

And at the end of the day lovers find a quiet moment in the niches of the old wall to watch the late afternoon fade into night and the sunset reflected in the sea.

A UNESCO World Heritage Site, Cartagena is an amazing city and we greatly enjoyed our time here as we celebrated our third Christmas as retired nomads and welcomed in 2015. Some places take a piece of your heart and we’ll leave a little of us behind as we move on to the Netherlands Antilles.

By Anita and Richard

Life’s a Beach: Chillin’ in Cartagena

Posted on January 24, 2015 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 41 comments

One of the first things we noticed about the swimming beaches that run along the Caribbean coast of Cartagena was their unique configuration. Where the natural shoreline and urban development allow, jetties have been built with spacing that permit the tides to wash in creating half-moon shaped beaches perfectly suited to water frolicking. The only thing that upsets the tranquility of the water is a strong onshore wind which raises the swell of the ocean but does not seriously deflect from the enjoyment of the folks on the beach.

At our favorite crescent shaped beach – our favorite because we had only to take the elevator to the lobby and walk across Avenida Santander – it was usually easy to rent a “tarpa”, a plasticized rectangle of blue or red fabric stretched over a movable metal frame to give shade. As we preferred to be there mid to late morning during the quieter weekdays there were usually about twenty to thirty of the canopied structures nicely spaced around our little swimming hole. It set us back a couple of bucks but the fee was good for the day and they were rented by all because the sun would scorch you in short order. So if you weren’t in the water you were probably hunkered down in the shelter of your tarpa watching the fun going on about you.

The kids, naturally, loved the beach. Tiny toddlers, at first apprehensive, saw even tinier tots playing in the shallows, splashing and allowing the waves to chase them. It didn’t take long for them to warm up either to the water or the fun; the water was not bath water warm but just a few degrees south, delightfully cool during the heat of the day. So the kids, either with or without their folks at their sides, became the stars of the show. In their neon colored swim suits with their unbridled exuberance they flapped and flopped about in the gentle surf, masters of their domain.

The older folks joined in the fun, as did we, venturing out farther into the waves and, of course, we couldn’t compete with the gleeful enthusiasm of a kid. But really, we all became kids inside whether we dove headfirst into six inches of water, buried a brother in the sand, built castles and dug holes or jumped through the waves. It was all done with shouts of triumph and laughter.

And then there were the unexpected players; those not decked out in beach togs. These were the worker bees, the drones, the vendors and the hucksters, those who offered beach toys or souvenirs and outrageously priced massages as well as food and cold treats and provided for us as we frolicked in the sun or drowsed in the shade. For them, this was not a day at beach, this was their version of a day at the office. And while we knew that they had to make a living and checked out their goods we did little to abet their financial success on any given day.

By Richard and Anita

An Urban Garden in Getsemani: Cartagena, Colombia

Posted on January 17, 2015 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 42 comments

We turned onto a narrow street of brightly colored attached houses of cement and stucco. Two boys played with their recent Christmas gifts of action heroes complete with sounds of warfare and annihilation. Potted plants were abundantly displayed along the raised edge of the paved road in front of many of the small homes in lieu of a yard and a woman tended her flowers while neighbors further on chatted, each sitting in front of their abodes. The thriving bushes and flowers created an oasis on this street in the center of one of the lesser known areas of Cartagena. And overhead, strung between the homes across the lane of Callejon Angosto, from one end of the road to the other, plastic shopping bags in pastel colors of white, yellow, pink and blues fluttered gaily in the breeze, trapping the morning light, radiating a festive aura and creating both shade and, surprisingly, a tranquil refuge. We were completely delighted to see the lowly plastic bag, bane of modern existence, transformed into a fanciful and useful piece of beauty.

A portion of Getsemani is immediately adjacent to the old walled city of Cartagena that the tourists so love. It begins just across a major thoroughfare, Avenida Venezuela and online tourist websites as well as printed books give the area short shrift. Yet it, unlike other neighborhoods such as San Diego, Boca Grande or the beach areas around Avenida Santander has not given way to the developers’ dollars and so it lacks the high rise condos, trendy stores and pricey restaurants found elsewhere. In this wedge-shaped neighborhood the common folk live, raise their families, attend schools and churches, save and spend their money, marry and bury their loved ones. For years, barrio Getsemani was stigmatized as poor and somehow unsafe for tourists. Yet we noticed on our visits that this was the mecca in Cartagena for the backpacker set; those young, mobile adventurists who flock to the barrio to take advantage of the clean, cheap hostels that thrive in Getsemani.

Barrio Getsemani is also home to a large, multi-gated, fenced park established in 1811, Parque Centenario. It’s reputed to have a two-toed sloth, a large, aged iguana and a small troop of howler monkeys in amongst the trees but, although we looked hard, we neither saw nor heard any wild life. On our first walk through the park in the late afternoon we encountered the strong disagreeable odor of urine in some shaded stretches of the walkways and several rather disreputably dressed gentlemen, looking suspiciously like drunken vagrants, lying on the grass or benches and slumped about giving the vicinity an overall creepy feeling.

However, on our second visit to the park, a little after 9 AM, we actually talked about the song, What a Difference a Day Makes, as it reflected the changes we were seeing as we wandered through the park. People strolled about under trees pleasantly shading the pathways, grassy spaces and flowering bushes of green in the otherwise vastly cemented area of this part of the city. Men sat upon benches talking quietly and a fountain sprayed water into a large pool. Book sellers sat in front of little permanent kiosks that completely lined one side of the park and stacks of new and used books were displayed. One gentleman’s attention was intently focused upon drying pages of a book by pressing a cloth to each page and fanning gently. We examined the books, struck up conversations and smiled profusely.

Walking other streets within the neighborhood of Getsemani we nodded to friendly passersby, stopped to watch a craps game being played by several men on a corner sidewalk and admired a pretty little church, La Iglesia da la Trinidad. One shaded and unnamed plaza had some whimsical metal statues of a dog chawing on a boys hip pocket, a drunk relieving himself in concert with a dog as his boon companion and a third of another borracho (drunk) proffering a drink to a not-too-close friend. Things that absolutely would not be encountered in the more prosperous, proper and staid old walled city. sometimes picturesque and charming precludes spontaneity and ribald humor!

Here, in Barrio Getsemani, you’ll find wide-spread gentrification. It appears that the locals are resisting changes by working to preserve this remnant of an older, less attractive but still vibrant and thriving part of the city. For now it’s a win-win for residents of the neighborhood as well as the tourists who have an opportunity to enjoy a grittier but character-filled corner of Caribe life amidst the hub-bub of cosmopolitan Cartagena de Indias. Viva el Barrio Getsemani!

By Richard and Anita

The Unconquerable Castle on the Hill: Castillo San Felipe de Barajas in Cartagena

Posted on January 10, 2015 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 27 comments

You know those geeky looking people you see on self-guided tours wearing the oversize, dorky black earflap headphones and squinting at their maps? That was us, complete with the big audio recorder that hung around our necks like a lead weight and bounced against our stomachs with each step. At 9 AM in the morning we were already sweating buckets under the merciless sun and we hadn’t even started the climb up the hill. We’d had a brief introduction to Castillo San Felipe de Barajas during our city tour a couple of weeks previous but the structure is so immense that we decided it deserved much more of our attention and time leisurely exploring it and besides, those tunnels looked like fun!

The fortress completely covers the Hill of San Lazaro, a brilliantly strategic site that overlooks both land and sea approaches and is nothing if not imposing in its very size. Begun in 1536 and completed in 1767 it’s the largest, most complex Spanish fort ever built in the New World. Slaves, using pickaxes and shovels first flattened the highest knob on the hill, no mean feat in itself, and then commenced with building the garrison from the top down. The original portion of the work which included constructing the “Old Fort” should have taken five years, but the governor’s unmerciful schedule finished it in a year; the number of slave deaths went unrecorded. Using rectangular blocks gouged from both the coral reefs offshore and from a quarry nearby (manned by slaves and unfortunates who had been sentenced to hard labor by the ongoing Inquisitional Tribunals) they eventually covered the hillsides with ramps and walls, sentry stations, watchtowers and bell-towers, weapons plazas, ramparts for cannon and artillery, etc. Also built were the structures needed to maintain those 500 troops at any one time such as a central kitchen, laundry, hospital, foundry and huge cisterns to collect water during the rainy season in preparation for the times of drought.

And then there were the miles of labyrinthine tunnels throughout the hill, many dug by Welsh miners brought over especially for the task. There are only a few that are open to the public now but it’s not hard to experience a rat in a maze feeling and sense of disorientation when one takes a wrong turn. The tunnels were used for moving and storing provisions (food, weapons, and gunpowder) as well as repositioning troops or even evacuation/retreat, if ever needed, through a fortified exit at the base of the Castillo. They were structured so that the acoustics allow for discrete sounds, such as footfalls or verbal commands and alerts by ringing bells with pre-arranged codes, that carry through the intersecting tunnels.

We had to applaud the strategic placement of the castle where the land adjoining the Hill of San Lazaro could aid the Spanish most in their acquisition and safeguarding of the New World’s plunder from those (also!) avaricious pirates. Residing at the base of the castle was a “hospital” for lepers where treatment consisted solely of prayer and whose location was avoided by all who feared the dreaded flesh-eating disease believed to be caused by demons. The area surrounding the castle on the three sides was a mixture of lowlands and hillocks which were frequently flooded by seasonally heavy rains. An elevated roadway connected this inhospitable region to the castle and served as an avenue of supply; it was useless to attackers as the road was well protected by the fort’s cannons.

Fetid swamps, lying to either side of the roadway, populated by swarms of mosquitos and carrying malaria and yellow fever that had been introduced to the New World by the African slaves, further hindered the enemy. An army weakened by disease, exhaustion and thirst was an easier foe for the Spanish to vanquish. On the seaward approach three stone causeways, connecting the Castillo to the walled city it defended, were intended to be destroyed by gunpowder to thwart the enemy in the event of an attack. These heavily guarded entry points were the only means to access the bastion.

The entire massive fortress stands as a testament to Spanish tenacity and genius. The geometry of the Castillo was fifty years in advance of that practiced in Europe; a full half century would elapse before fortifications on the continent would rival those in Cartagena. The Castillo itself was actually seven defensive structures built over time with overlapping fields of fire. Should an attacker actually breach one of the outer parameters they would find themselves confronted with enfiladed fire coming from two or more of the remaining six fortifications. It was a death trap waiting to ensnare any adversary foolhardy enough to accept the challenge.

Three hours later with the sun at its zenith, our faces sweat-streaked and flushed under our hats and our water bottles emptied, we walked down the hill. Our awe at what the Spanish had accomplished in the building of Castillo San Felipe de Barajas had only grown. The fortress, along with the old City of Cartagena well deserves its 1984 recognition as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is well worth a lengthy and leisurely exploration.

By Anita and Richard

Off to Great Places in Cartagena de Indias

Posted on January 3, 2015 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 36 comments

“You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And you are the one who’ll decide where to go.” The Places You’ll Go, Dr. Seuss

We arrived promptly at el Museo del Naval de Carib at 1:15 where we met Irsis, our English-speaking guide from the previous day. It was he who had suggested that we take the city tour which included several of the scenic sights in this phenomenal port city. Plus he could offer it at 20% off the price quoted to us by a previous vendor. So, after having a complimentary coffee that was heavily sugared, we departed through one of the gates in the city’s walls to meet the bus which would be our chariot for the remainder of the day.

“Congratulations! Today is your day. You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away.” Ibid.

We were greatly pleased when we saw our tour bus painted in gaudy colors with Bob Marley and the Wailers blaring out of the open sides; it was nothing so much as a rolling Sesame Street colored boom box. Firmly ensconced in our open aired seats we departed, taking a jaunt around the Parque Centenario en route to barrio Bocagrande, the richest barrio in this city of 1.2 million built along the powdery white sand beach of Cartagena’s harbor. As we tootled around collecting the rest of the paid passengers we gawked at the shops, many similar to tony venues in the States. With our full complement of lookie-loos we turned towards our first destination of the day, the waterfront at the city’s marina. Colombia’s navy and army maintain bases in the port area while, in the commercial area, the gantry cranes stand ready to on or off load containerized cargos from ocean-going transports. Small parks abutting the malecon appear in less congested areas. Berthing privileges are also extended to the massive cruise liners that make ports-of-call in Cartagena. To our chagrin, we observed their disgorged passengers as they followed their leader’s standard literally blocking the city’s narrow streets like a flock of demented goslings.

“You’re off to great places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So … Get on your way!” Ibid.

Our next stop, and the main reason we had joined the tour, was a visit to the Cerro de Popa which would allow us an elevated view of the city, the harbor, the scattered islands and the waterways that enveloped the old walled city of Cartagena. The name literally means Convent of the Stern referring to the similarity between the 492-foot hillock and the back end of a ship. Perched at the top and overlooking the city with its white walls reflecting the sun’s rays is a picturesque colonial church (circa 1611) and a convent.

We learned that during the early years of the colony, around 1535, a clandestine shrine existed upon the hill which was used by the indigenous inhabitants and African slaves to worship the deity Buziriaco, which, history records, resembled a goat. Legend has it that an Augustinian priest received, in a dream, an order from the Virgin Mary to erect a monastery on the site. Having traveled to the hill of La Popa the padre discovered the goat shrine and promptly pitched it down the mount. This must have come as an immense relief to the indigenous Indians and black slaves, as normal retribution for such sacrilege by the Spanish involved nasty torture or hideous death and, on a bad day, both. Pitching the goat shrine down the hill was bupkis.

Ultimately, the ride to the top of the mountain was more memorable for the grinding of gears and the acrid odor of charred motor oil issuing from the antiquated engine of our glitzy boom-box bus than the Convent itself but inside was housed a memorable, dazzling altar encrusted in 22-carat gold leaf – a rather impressive upgrade from the now defunct Buziriaco goat shrine.

We made two more stops prior to the finale, the first presented an absolutely impressive venue, the Castillo San Felipe de Barajas which we decided deserved another more lengthy visit and a later post all its own and the second stop to a sculpture of a pair of high-top sneakers that had little visual or historic note which we hereby omit.

“Things may happen and often do to people as brainy and footsy as you.”, Ibid.

Our chariot came to its last stop in front of the old Officers’ Quarters, later converted into a prison and now in a revitalized iteration as a Latinized mini-strip mall. Approximately twenty small tiendas selling Colombian handicrafts, a combination of beautifully worked goods and shoddy souvenirs, were housed in the stuccoed and gaily painted barracks. During the half hour we were allotted, we wandered through six or seven shops before selecting a bolsa, a cloth bag, in black with a brightly colored embroidered and appliqued red parrot on the front to use as a packing organizer.

“Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left. And, will you succeed? Yes! You will indeed! (98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)”, Ibid.

And so, five hours later and $36 lighter we were dropped off on a side street inside the walled city. We perambulated over to what has become one of our favorite eateries, Ilsabe, for a pleasant meal and emerged after dark to stroll the narrow streets decorated for the holidays, the lights in gay profusion from balconies, statues and enormous Christmas trees that decorated almost every park and plaza. It was a wonderful way to end a raucous and informative day in the city by the sea.

We are indebted to Dr. Seuss, ne: Theodore Gisselle, for his marvelous creation The Places You’ll Go, published January 22, 1990 by Random House Publishing Co. While it was the last book he was to write it was the first book that truly inspired us in our visions of travel.

By Richard and Anita

“Greetings and Good Riddance” (We Arrive in Cartagena, Colombia)

Posted on December 20, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 37 comments

We should have known that we had potential communication problems with our prospective host when our last message from him was “Greetings and good riddance.” We’d found the apartment through AirBnB, read the few references listed and sent out an inquiry to him about renting the apartment for 5 weeks beginning in December. The response:

10-8-14 Greetings and thank you for reaching out to me! Have you ever been to Cartagena before? My apartment–the entire place, not just a room–is available and I am pre-approving you already. The apartment has a patio with ocean views, strong wifi, and a pool in the complex. The beach is across the street and the historic center is a ten minute walk.

I am in Spain for the rest of the year, but my sister Liliana, who works in tourism, will be the one to let you in to the place. She speaks English fluently and will be able to answer any and all your questions about the city and/or the rest of the country whenever you want.

Let me know if you have any further questions.

Ah, we thought. A personable young man and the apartment sounds like what we’re looking for. We reserved the apartment (our 16^th booking with AirBnB) and wrote again towards the end of November to confirm our arrival details receiving this reply:

11-25-14 if you please send me the details of the flight .. and I shall pass to Liliana. She is a person of great trust and works with tourism. anything were to need it We can help solve

We did and proceeded with wrapping up our time in Ecuador and reading about Cartagena, Colombia, envisioning the narrow streets and picturesque colonial architecture featured in the old movie, “Romancing the Stone” with Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas.

Another note arrived a few days later:

12-1-14 Hi. Not long for the trip! I wanted to wish you a safe journey and incidentally tell an affair with reference to cushion your room. I wanted to change to a more comfortable, but to this day December 11 did not reach the new mattress. I apologize for the inconvenience that may be caused that day, but will be worth it for better comfort when sleeping! a greeting.

Hmm – A problem??? December 11 must be a typo since it’s written the first… And so we kept packing…

12-2-14 Hello .. if everything is organized for your arrival day 3! the address of the apartment. It is avenidad sanrander building offshore goatherd. 1012 apartment !. liliana will be waiting at the airport! greetings and good riddance!

Ah! A good laugh when we read the last line. Everything was on track…

December 3^rd we spent the day in the air and in transit through the Manta and Quito, Ecuador and Bogotá, Colombia airports out of touch with everyone as no Wi-Fi was available; relaxed and blissfully unaware that this message had arrived:

12-3 Hi Anita and Richard. what about the apartment? had told him that he would change the mattress for the day December 11th is not possible before by q reference q want is not in the store .. could talk tomorrow with mattress store to see if they can serve tomorrow another .. regards

The plane was an hour late and Lilianna, a pretty woman in her late twenties was awaiting as promised. She was polite but far from the warm, welcoming person our host had written of who, because of her tourism experience, would be interested in making our visit pleasant as well as answer any questions we had. Also, she was not the loving sister described but a friend and she spoke NOT ONE WORD OF ENGLISH. She dispatched us as quickly as possible to the apartment without being overtly rude and sped off into the night. The apartment manager, a plump and smiling woman named Dianna was waiting in the airy lobby which was decorated for the holidays and, although she didn’t speak English either, we were able to communicate with our limited Spanish. She produced the keys and we followed her up the elevator. We arrived at the door and she unlocked the flimsy locks, shaking her head in dismay because she had talked to the owner about replacing them and…

We walked in. It looked okay at first, second and third glances as we looked around. Certainly not as modern or as big as we’d thought but things looked fairly clean and the view of the Caribbean could be seen as promised from the balcony. The kitchen was basically outfitted, there was a nice television, table and couch in the living area and the bedroom … Wait, there was something wrong here… the bed was strangely low… and it finally occurred to us, there was no mattress! Just clean sheets drawn over a box spring with pillows piled up invitingly.

Obviously, the new mattress that the host had spoken of in a previous email had not been delivered. We decided to contact the host on the “strong Wi-Fi” connection and, of course, nothing, nada, zip. We debated about this conundrum for a few minutes with Dianna assuring us that we could figure out the bed and Wi-Fi in the morning, and having been up since 4 am, decided to tough it out on the box springs for the night with a nest of pillows. We turned on the AC (it worked!) in the bedroom and a fan in the living room since the apartment was stifling and proceeded to unpack just what we needed for the night. Washing up, I looked down to see a pool of water spreading from the sink base and tiredly, laid a towel over the rapidly expanding puddle. And then, upon closing the folding doors to our lovely cool bedroom (mattress or no) a small sound, R-r-r-r, as part of the door sagged drunkenly to its side held by one hinge and a screw pulling from the adjoining panel.

Things did not look any better in the morning. Dianna arrived and, using her cell phone, we wrote the owner a note saying that the apartment was unacceptable, detailed the problems and advised him that we would be contacting AirBnB which we did next, sending photos of the problems. We also Skyped with a helpful AirBnB rep named Miranda who assured us that she would follow the matter through. And then, we left for a hotel that Dianna helped us find – with a mattress and reliable Wi-Fi, intact doors and dry floors.

AirBnB came through for us with flying colors and we received a full refund within a couple of days as well as a $100 credit towards our next reservation. In the future, we may not be quite as credulous when corresponding with prospective hosts and we’ll look for more reviews as well a slightly higher price range. It’s always a gamble when booking through any online accommodation agency (be it VRBO, FlipKey, Wimdu, Homeaway, etc.) and this time we lost.

But not quite. Four days later, again with Dianna’s help, we returned to the same apartment building but a different and vastly improved apartment. And for only twice as much… plus the hotel fees… Ah, well, it’s the h-o-l-i-d-a-y-s and we’re right in the middle of the Christmas high season with celebrants and vacationers visiting Cartagena in huge numbers. Lights and decorations, fiestas and festivities abound. Feliz Navidad!

By Anita and Richard

There’s Something Fishy About Manta

Posted on December 13, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 34 comments

Manta, Ecuador isn’t a pretty city. At its heart it’s a small fishing village that has grown into a substantial metropolis with an estimated 300,000 citizens. Although the city has existed since Pre-Columbian times, there are no cultural ruins and little aesthetic appeal in the gritty commercial downtown. Narrow one-way streets climb up and down the steep hills attended by sidewalks in need of repair as crowds of vendors and shoppers move in opposing directions and swirls of activity. The vast majority of the downtown, one or two blocks set back from the waterfront, consists of relatively new and unimaginative structures: two, three and four-story cement and cinderblock square buildings, predominately gray or in need of a new coat of paint, their sides plastered with posters and signs. If the architectural term “Eastern Bloc” existed it might well apply to this portion of the downtown. In contrast, the Malecon, the main street abutting the Pacific, running along the beach from Playa Murcielago eastward to roughly Playa Tarqui, hosts recent, modern, commercial edifices of glass and steel of several stories. Here are the larger banks, government buildings, hotels and the like. But, regardless of where you are in the city, tower cranes, arc welders and cutting torches attest to the fact that the city is in a genuine boom phase, both commercial and residential.

Manta has the largest seaport in Ecuador as well as one of the most stable economies in the country; fishing, tuna processing and canning are the main industries. We half expected the city to reek of fish but this wasn’t the case. The fish market, a huge open-air structure roofed in tin and located on the beach was worth several morning visits. Tables were piled high with more varieties of fish than we had ever seen (tuna, dorado, corvina, red snapper, grouper, wahoo, prawns and lobster, etc.) with the fresh catch of the day glistening under stray shafts of sunlight. The flash of machetes and fillet knives slicing through the sea’s bounty and the salty smell of the sea and fish in the air gave us a new appreciation of an ocean harvest. Mid-day, after the crowds depart, the market is washed down; later on in the day it might turn rank, but there are the scavengers (frigates, egrets, herons and buzzards) waiting their turn to help with the final cleanup.

At three roundabouts on the Malecon sculptures are erected that reflect Manta’s roots as a village of fishermen and seafarers. Here, also, we watched the skilled boat builders of Manta craft their handmade ships and, near the Manta Yacht club, we admired the yachts and other ships and boats floating in the bay. Tourism, both foreign and domestic, is becoming more and more important to Manta’s economy; assorted cruise ships make Manta a port of call. When the ships are in port, local vendors from the city and nearby Montecristi as well as those from the mountain cities of Quito and Cuenca set up their tables and display their handicrafts, textiles and artwork from many of the country’s finest artisans.

The citizens of Manta were some of the most welcoming and friendly people who we’ve yet encountered. Although the expat numbers are growing (estimated to be around 350) the ratio of gringos to locals makes this one of the most “authentic” places we’ve been. Taxi drivers were friendly and we had many conversations in Spanish, and occasionally English, as we were speedily delivered to our destinations. We made many friends in the active expat group which met several times during the week and our social life varied only with our desire to participate in the many gatherings or seek some quieter pursuits. And, while conversations of religious philosophies might be tolerated, political discussions could be volatile and engaging in such was best avoided.

Manta’s an easy city in which to live and it’s only going to improve. It has beautiful beaches and the influx of affluent Ecuadorians looking for vacation homes, foreign speculators seeking a good investment and retiring baby boomers searching for a place where their money goes further are spurring the growth of this city. The availability of fresh produce and seafood at economical prices is unsurpassed and the city abounds with excellent restaurants. Garbage pickup is daily and there’s good cellular service as well as cable TV and, depending where you reside, excellent Wi-Fi. The electricity costs appear to be much lower than Central America’s and there’s even an airport.

However, our ninety-day visa was close to its expiration date and it was time for us to move on. And, lest we sound like an ad for International Living, Manta’s not for everyone and it’s probably not for us. The dry climate that results from the offshore Humboldt Current gives Manta a mild and very pleasant temperature which draws many expats seeking to avoid the torpid humidity of Mexico and Central America. However, the aridity combined with the constant wind and dust can also cause a lot of respiratory problems for people predisposed to breathing difficulties (what the locals call gripe) and the rainfall, which would clean the air, is erratic and scant. It was usually cloudy during the months that we were there (September through November) but when the sun shone the skies were dazzling. We genuinely felt like we were leaving an old friend when we boarded the plane bound for Cartagena, Colombia.

By Anita and Richard

Drivin’ Along in My Automobile … to Puerto Lopez

Posted on December 6, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 34 comments

We’d wanted to visit the bustling fishing village and eco-tourism hub, Puerto Lopez, south of Manta since we’d arrived in Ecuador and when Barb, our Canadian mentor and friend here in Manta, invited us to drive there we jumped at the opportunity. Puerto Lopez serves as headquarters for the Parque Nacional de Machlilla, a whale watching port and is a jumping off point for the Isla de la Plata, known as the Poor Man’s Galapagos, which hosts many of the same sea and shore birds as the Galapagos Islands with a day trip costing only $35.

It was an overcast day as we climbed away from the arid landscape of the coast; the leaden sky gave up a light fog which in turn yielded to a fine mist. The grayness of the drizzle contrasted sharply with the lush greens of a micro-climate through which we passed for a time and then, once we crested the hill and began the descent, we returned to the cacti and scrub of the native coastal desert.

Driving through the more typical barrenness of the land, we slid through the nondescript pueblos of the campo, the countryside, of Ecuador. There was no glitter in La Pina, no tourist destinations in Santa Rosa. The surroundings through which we passed were the earthen tones of the uncompromising land itself; the dull red of the bricks, the unpainted gray of the cinder blocks and the fading gold of bamboo turning a monotonous brown with the passing of time. The colors seemed to be drained by wind, sand and salt air and within were sheltered extended families striving to eke a living from the land and sea. And somewhere within the mass of dwellings would be one or more churches each proffering its claims of grace in the afterlife as precious little of it was available here. This was the rural side of Ecuador and its people not, as yet, invited to sit at the tables of the middle class. In this nation of relative prosperity, the country folks stood in stark comparison to their city cousins.

As if to mirror the image projected by the villages, the sea faded into the sky, foam pushed close to shore, the rocky shingle of the beach mocked the absence of the sandy stretches elsewhere to the north and south. The view was more stark and on this particular morning it appeared that the seascape was about the immensity of the ocean itself, offering little succor.

We were well past the mid-point of the trip to Puerto Lopez when we pulled into the sleepy little village of Machalilla outside the national park of the same name. It was a small town of indeterminate size with a concave malecon circled around an arched, sandy bay. Three parallel streets crowded into the bowl area delineated by the highway which hugged the hill furthest back from the water. The town was in desperate need of a facelift: stucco patching, fresh paint for the buildings as well as asphalt in the frame-rattling pot holes. But the beach was a scenic attraction stretched around a half-moon bay. Small fishing boats were lined up on the fine sand or in the water among larger ships rigged out with fishing nets. After reconnoitering the city and snapping a few photos we departed for our final destination.

A few more miles and we arrived at Puerto Lopez. The humpback whales had departed the waters near Puerto Lopez for the season as had several species of birds from the Isla de la Plata. We walked down the new pier for a long overdue view of the sea birds. Peruvian pelicans, closely related to the brown pelicans of the U.S., were in fine form plunging again and again into schools of fish close by the pilings.

Small terns harassed the pelicans unsuccessfully as they emerged from their headlong dives with their beaks streaming with seawater and a morsel of fish. Overhead the Great Frigate Birds circled and looked for opportunities to quickly snatch a tidbit from an unwary, feathered competitor. Gulls, few in number, sat in desultory knots away from the action with little hope of getting into the game. The black vultures drifted on the winds or hopped about on the sand dejected by the paucity of options available to them at the moment but their time would come when the fishing boats returned.

We ambled by the numerous hotels, hostels and tourist agencies and browsed through the souvenir shops before we sat down to a fresh seafood meal, indifferently cooked, of shrimp and rice. After a bill negotiation with a waitress who had trouble adding accurately we climbed back into the car and pointed the wheels north towards Manta. Our slow journey was retraced through the small villages and rural areas while we kept an eye out for the wild burros that we had seen alongside the road.

By Richard and Anita

Silk Underwear Concealed – Kleptocracy Revealed: Lima, Peru

Posted on November 29, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 43 comments

We flew from Manta, Ecuador to Lima for a few days to meet-up with family members who were visiting for a week and on their way back to the States after spending a total of two-plus weeks acclimating to the altitude in Cuzco and then volunteering on conservation projects at Machu Picchu. We were looking forward to the reunion but we weren’t prepared for the fact that Lima is c-o-l-d, damp and gloomy. The city sits in the northern fringe of the Atacama Desert which gets roughly an inch of moisture a year; 95% of that comes in the form of a fog that blankets the city each morning. At this time of year (November) it lifts briefly only to return in the late afternoon usually accompanied by a blustery wind. However, we were both excited to each inherit a set of silk long johns to warm us in the absence of sunshine. We were assured that the sun does indeed make an appearance for two to three months a year starting in January, unimaginable as it then seemed.

Most surprisingly, given this climatological fact, was the abundance of flowers in the parks and boulevards of the city; daily watering keeps the city in bloom. Parque Central and Parque Kennedy, near our residence were redolent with blooms and lazy cats stretched out and napping on the lawns. Love Park or Parque de Amor, was awash with flowers, a statue of two lovers entwined and intricately tiled mosaic walls. Plaza de Armas and Plaza del San Martin were similarly bedecked as were most of the wide boulevards with grassy medians.

Lima, and the adjacent port city of Callao, host roughly eleven million people, more than a third of the country’s population, with urban sprawl being a pronounced feature. The old Historic District radiates out from the Palace of the President, the Cathedral, the Archbishop’s Palace, San Fransisco Church and Convent, among the notables, and was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1992.

photo available at https://www.google.com/search?q=crypts+of+san+francisco+church,+Lima+Peru.jpg

We toured the underground crypts in the San Francisco church, a bastion of egalitarian burial. Each of the crypts were filled with ten bodies with no distinctions between classes and then covered with quicklime. The members of the religious order may have had a separate chamber but in death a commonality of the human condition was finally recognized.

photo available at http://www.digitaljournal.com/img/6/8/7/0/1/4/i/9/5/3/p-large/Catacumbas_San_Francisco.jpg

We wound our way through tunnels with side chambers and came upon a unique feature, the ossuary, which was a circular crypt where the curators, displaying a macabre sense of design, had arranged the larger bones, tibia, fibula, etc. and skulls artfully in elaborate patterns. We guessed that the smaller bones had sifted their way down to pile up below.

About midway through our visit we caught a cab across town to the Museo Larco which was as fine a museum as we’ve seen anywhere, including all the offerings one might see in the Smithsonian. The grounds were a riot of colors, impeccably landscaped and it was a pleasure just to sit and gaze around at the spectacular gardens.

Funerary bundle with mask and gold crown

The benefactor, Rafael Larco Hoyle (1901-1966) began the museum in 1926 and, with his family’s financial backing, amassed a collection from archeological sites along Peru’s northern coast.

These included many cultures previously unknown and the objects were of precious and semi-precious metals and stones, ceremonial and everyday pottery and earthenware and vestments of the upper classes. In all, 45,000 items were cataloged and on display to the public. After hours of wandering through this fabulous museum we were satiated and our eyes began to cross and glaze over!

Dueling set

On our penultimate full day in Lima we went to Museo Oro del Peru – the Gold Museum – another privately endowed property. The ground floor was more a monument to militarism and kleptocracy, devoted to armaments from the 16^th through the 20^th centuries from all over the world. We took a few pictures before being reminded that photos are discouraged but a “short” list of some of the implements of war and the related accoutrements follows: armor complete with codpieces, brass knuckles, dirks, a “Beefeater” uniform, Gatling guns, a beautifully polished Kalashnikov rifle presented by the USSR Ambassador, a plethora of fantastic European dueling pistols, maces, Moroccan scimitars and Nazi paraphernalia. Two over-the-top items were uniforms personally donated by Generalissimo Francisco Franco of Spain in 1938 and Generalissimo Augusto Pinochet of Chile in 1976.

After being sidetracked on the first floor for well over an hour we climbed down the stairs and reached our real objective, a subterranean level which housed within vaults containing gold, silver, bronze, copper, pearls, turquoise, weavings, funerary offerings, litters, and mummified corpses. In a nod to the ultimate equality of mortals a corpse of a lower class commoner was among the items. A corpse’s class in life could be determined by its position: a corpse laid out horizontally was in the lower classes as opposed to the corpse seated vertically in its funerary bundle in the higher classes. In addition, death objects accompanying the body ranged from pottery shards to the elaborate which, again, made the class distinction painfully obvious. One thing that struck us, just as we were again reaching our critical threshold of museum overload, was that the precious metals, pearls and stones would not have filled the hold of the smallest Spanish galleon. The fact that these items were buried kept them beyond the reach of the acquisitive conquistadores.

We barely scratched the surface of the city of Lima and didn’t explore any of Peru’s other magnificent and well-known sites. But we had a terrific reunion with some of our family, learned a little about this country’s rich and varied history and, clad in our silk long underwear, departed gratefully for warmer climes.

Love Park - Lovers entwined and workers maintaining

Love Park – Lovers entwining and workers maintaining

By Richard and Anita

What We Lost: Burgled On A Bus

Posted on November 15, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 52 comments

Although we were careful with our belongings, we must have become complacent during our travels. Bad luck finally caught up with us and we became the victims of theft.

We arrived home to our apartment in Manta in the early evening after a long day of travel. We had begun at 6:45 with a taxi ride on Santa Cruz Island in the Galapagos to catch a bus to the ferry that took us across to Baltra Island. From there we flew back to the Ecuadorian mainland into the large port city of Guayaquil and grabbed a taxi to reach the bus station. After buying our tickets we scrambled a bit to find our departure point and made the bus with only minutes to spare. We settled in to our comfortable seats for the three-and-a-half hour ride back to Manta and the last taxi taking us (finally!) home.

photo available from http://www.canstockphoto.com

We arrived home tired but very happy with our visit and began unpacking our carry-ons, piling up dirty laundry and putting our things away. And then we turned our attention to our backpacks. With a sinking feeling I pulled out the bag with the charging cords (camera, I-pod, Kindle) and didn’t see my camera wrapped in its bright blue woven bag from Guatemala. I pulled out the charging cord and mouse for my computer and, with a slow, sick feeling growing in my stomach, made sure all the compartments were empty. I compulsively patted my backpack front and back. I looked around at my belongings strewn across the bed, checked under each item and verified that my computer, wrapped in its green padded bag, was also gone. I twisted my backpack side to side as if my computer might magically reappear but the bag was still empty – the camera and computer still gone.

We had taken turns taking pictures on our cameras of all our sight-seeing in the Galapagos Islands and had carefully downloaded the photos each night when we returned to our hotel in case one of the cameras was damaged or lost. Our Wi-Fi was so slow that uploading our photos to Dropbox, our cloud-based storage file, to back them up wasn’t really an option. However, we thought we’d pretty much covered the bases…

When did the theft occur? Our best guess is that it happened on the bus from Guayaquil to Manta.

The first suspicious incident happened when an official looking man asked us to move from our assigned seats to more inviting seats towards the front of the bus which we complied with. However, the rightful passengers appeared shortly and requested their assigned seats. At this time an official in the uniform of Riena Del Camino, the bus line, assisted us and back we went to our original seats. Both times our attention was divided between picking up our backpacks and gathering up the items we had removed and then stumbling along the narrow aisle while curious onlookers watched.

The second suspicious incident happened when I noticed that my pack had fallen on its back by my feet and was slightly pushed under the back seat rather than leaning against the bus side on my left where I’d first placed it. Thinking that the bus movement had shifted its balance I moved it upright again without checking the contents.

The important questions are: “What have we really lost?”

One of two of our fairly new computers with the contents mostly backed up and recoverable. One of two of our small cameras with over half of our photos of the amazing Galapagos.
Our “travel virginity.” In return we gained the realization that we were singled out as vulnerable targets.
And, maybe, our faith in the travel gods. Our future journeys may always include less trust in the people around us. We’ll be more watchful, more guarded and possibly more suspicious.
photo available from http://www.canstockphoto.com

We live a minimalistic lifestyle as long-term travelers with each item carefully selected and chosen. But the loss of a computer and camera is much more than the loss of a few of our possessions. It’s about the diminution of our confidence in ourselves and the people around us who we had formerly greeted with open smiles and trust.

Something’s changed. Call us less naïve and complacent…. and tally up a small win for the dark side.

By Anita and Richard

Going Up Country

Posted on November 8, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 28 comments

Both of us remember as kids piling into the family station wagon for Sunday drives to “see the scenery” and we both had the same thought: “B-O-R-I-N-G!” Fast forward to present day and it’s readily apparent how much we’ve changed. A road trip is a cornerstone of travel and the thought of a day spent exploring new towns and countryside can leave us with a sense of giddy anticipation.

We headed north of Manta through a series of small “don’t blink your eyes or you might miss them” towns. Because we’ve found that this area of Ecuador seems to be very aware of its image and protective of its environment, we were surprised when piles of garbage and random trash appeared dumped beside the road for a stretch of a few miles. We spied a large landfill off to the side, servicing the large military reservation in the area, along the otherwise scenic route and once we left it behind we began to enjoy the views again. Our favorite trees, the ceibos, appeared and we began wending our way through the low hills.

As we moved inland from the coastline we began noticing small farms of row crops, many with solitary or multiple workers bent over their tasks – stoop labor. Among the offerings we recognized were onions, maiz, pole beans alongside banana and plantains. Picturesque rice paddies appeared with egrets scattered here and there in the shallow water near workers standing in the mud, hunched over and laboring at the work of tending their crop as in years gone by.

We arrived in Bahía de Caráquez, with an estimated population of 20,000. As a coastal town situated at the mouth of the Río Chone, it’s a popular vacation destination for residents of Quito and Guayaquil and has begun to attract foreign visitors and retirees as well as investors in the last decade. Tourism is a significant source of income and, with its high-rise condominiums and hotels located along the waterfront, this new, vertical construction has earned Bahia the nickname of “Little Miami.” Numerous fishing boats, pleasure boats and yachts of various sizes were moored at Puerto Amistad near the bridge which crosses the Rio Chone.

Because it’s a small town there’s not a lot to see but we had a terrific time looking for and taking pictures of the colorful variety of tuk-tuks and pedicabs. There is talk that a new mall with a modern grocery will be coming soon and this will reduce the need for the frequent trips to either Portoviejo or Manta for some basic shopping.

We crossed over the Los Caras Bridge, admiring the boats on the bay and drove through the small town of San Vicente which appeared to be largely ignored by tourists and no comparison to its wealthy neighbor. Here, as elsewhere through our journey, we noted the widespread use of bamboo as a construction material for houses, shops and many examples of split rail picket fences.

Passing by occasional roadside signs that counted down our longitude we reached our final destination, a little fishing village named Canoa (0°28’59.9″S 80°27’04.5″W). Maybe because it was mid-afternoon or low season the few streets seemed almost deserted although it’s a popular tourist destination. Shops and small eateries lined the sandy street adjoining the huge expanse of golden beach that sold beachwear, souvenirs and basic groceries. Surf lessons for beginners and intermediates were advertised and there were several of the obligatory surfboard shops and hostels as well.

And finally, it was time to feast on some amazingly fresh and cheap seafood at a little thatch-roofed beach restaurant while we admired the view of the Pacific Ocean, bluffs off to either side and scattered fishing boats along the quiet and almost empty beach.

By Anita and Richard

Wooden Ships: The Boat Builders of Manta

Posted on November 1, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 25 comments

Wooden Ships, the song performed at Woodstock by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and featured on their first album, may well be remembered by many members of our generation. The ballad came to our baby-boomer minds when we first viewed the magnificent wooden yachts and fishing boats in various stages of construction, tear-down and refurbishing. All the overhauling and building is taking place in dry dock on the sands near Playa Tarqui here in Manta.

There does not appear to be a great deal written about these craftsmen or the work of the shipbuilders on the beach adjacent to the fish market. Manta, with an estimated population over 300,000, still feels like it’s not much more than an overgrown fishing village although it’s now a major exporter of tuna and other seafood within which a financial sector has flourished. So it’s logical to assume that the profession of building wooden ships has been known and practiced for generations, if not for centuries.

The current craftsmen still rely on hand tools. Chisels, hammers, adzes, awls, knives, machetes, nail sets and the like are wielded to work the wood to create ribs, hulls, decking, super-structures, etc. Some of the wooden beams and planks are machine milled but not to uniform dimensional lumber. The individual boards are selected one by one, measured and cut separately to match the adjacent plank and the gaps between are sealed by caulking. The beam and ribs are chosen for the grain with a natural bend being required and are slowly shaped so the main supports, to the extent possible, are intact pieces of lumber and not ones “sistered” or jointed.

To seal the spaces between the planks, the fibers of de-husked coconuts are used. These tough strands are roughly woven into a fibrous rope held taut between two men while being worked to form a sinewy caulking that is later covered by water repellant sealers.

Photo by Al Eisele

As a concession to modernity, a limited assortment of power tools are used in the construction including small chain saws. Some of the wooden ships and yachts, which are covered in fiberglass, require powered grinders and buffers for a finished application. These, alongside the Asociacion de Carpinteros de Manta of which the craftsmen are members, show that this native industry has kept pace with the times.

It’s been decades since the release of the song Wooden Ships; we’ve aged and changed and could even use some refurbishing of our own. And yet we have little reason to believe that much has changed here on the beach in Manta. Certainly the fiberglass coverings, the chainsaws and the associated electrical accoutrements are a more recent addition. But it’s not hard to imagine that the profession of building ships is passed down through the generations from father to son. And there’s much to be said for the refurbishing of those ships that have been used well and meticulously restored to their former incarnations allowing them to go to sea once more.

By Richard and Anita

Special thanks to Al Eisele of mantaexpatsonline.com for permission to use his photos.

Déjà Vu at the Tarqui Market

Posted on October 18, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 36 comments

“It’s like déjà vu all over again.” The quote, often attributed to Yogi Berra, is the feeling we have as we wander through the vast market area known simply as Tarqui in Manta, Ecuador. It is, in ways, similar to the sprawling mass of shops and stalls in Merida, Mexico whose cacophony and turbulence would drive us back to Parque Central after a couple of hours. Or it could be compared to the Mercado adjacent to the gigantic, bus parking lot, masquerading as a terminal, in Antiqua, Guatemala. Here we could find, among the fruits and vegetables and almost all manner of things available in that country, the area known as la Paca (the Bale) which resembled nothing so much as a vast topsey- turvey Goodwill drop-off station turned on its head. But, Tarqui is unique.

A reputable source guestimates that Tarqui is a rectangularly shaped twelve by fifteen blocks. While we’ve not walked the parameter that seems intuitively correct. Tarqui serves as a market for the barrio, the neighborhoods surrounding it, as well as the city folk. The street stalls offer to the passing throngs the bounty of this fecund province of Manabi in addition to the abundance of seafood from the Pacific. For the haggling aficionado, bargain hunters get an animated buying experience with plenty of smiles and shoulder shrugs as well as, in most instances, the cheapest prices in town.

On a daily basis, seven days a week, live chickens and ducks, plucked chickens with feet still attached and a harvest from the sea arrive. The heart of the market is, of course, the produce. The vendors, some on the sidewalks but most abutted to the curbs, display their wares in stunningly colorful geometric piles and pyramids of fruits and vegetables.

Incredible values are available; a bag of six green peppers goes for fifty cents. We pay another fifty cents for a bag of fifty to sixty whole, cleaned garlic cloves and are charged 75 cents for a large bag of thirty to forty radishes. A young man from the nearby town of Jipijapa (Hippy-Hoppa) sells large loaves of banana-nut bread, fresh and amazingly fragrant, baked by his aunt. This still-warm bundle goes in one of our backpacks to be consumed later with the best-ever, ginormous fresh strawberries.

Into this teeming mix of buyers, sellers and lookie-loos which fill the streets, taxis and trucks advance with a slow determination. If you’ve ever witnessed a car drive though a herd of sheep or cattle on a country road you get the picture. It’s literally a game of give and take with the taxi inching its way deliberately through the teeming multitudes and ultimately gaining the upper hand as no one really wants a smashed toe.

And then, as we venture beyond the produce vendors, who congregate near the major thoroughfare at the north end of Tarqui, we encounter the rest of the vast variety of merchants who sell bootlegged CD’s and DVD’s, clothing, plastic items, breads and pastries, car parts, stuffed toys, construction materials, kitchen items and on and on. Behind the vendor’s facades are the stores themselves and occasional alleyways that break the symmetry of the store fronts and allow access to an interior rabbit warren of more small shops, some of which have multiple entrances and exits, and all of which sell – guess what? – more of what is on the sidewalks outside.

Of course, we have the option to shop in the several supermarkets dotted here and there throughout the city, such as GranAki, Mi Comisario and Super Maxi among others. Modeled after their western counterparts they offer ease and convenience in a sanitized package at, almost always, higher prices. And Tarqui, while similar to street markets in other Latin countries with an echo of having done this before, offers a slightly difference experience; maybe because it’s a different country on a different continent. But here, there’s a spirit of cooperation with buyers and sellers working together to make sure everyone’s a winner. Buying and selling goes on the world around, but this, friends, is commerce Ecuadorian style in Tarqui.

By Richard and Anita

They Make House Calls Too

Posted on October 11, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 38 comments

It was a dark and stormy night (we’ve always wanted to start a post like that!). The rain was coming down hard, a rare event in Manta, and our power had just gone out. In fact, looking out our 11^th story apartment windows, it appeared that the power had gone out in much of the city. We decided to call it a night and started the usual preparations to get ready for bed. The screech from the generator powered intercom startled us around 8:45 PM and the security guard at the entrance to the property engaged us in a fractured dialogue involving our basic Spanglish with the attendant miscommunications. Finally, we came to understand that the physician we had seen twice to treat Enfermo’s bronchitis was at the entrance.

image from http://www.ipharmd.net/symbol/caduceus/blue_caduceus_medical_symbol.html

His daughter, Jema, a second-year medical student, came on the line and explained that she and her father were concerned about Enfermo’s health and were making a house call. After we shut our gaping mouths, we invited them up to the apartment and then hurriedly changed out of our sleeping attire and back into street clothes.

The back story is immaterial but through circuitous means the doctor had learned that the nebulizer he had loaned us for inhalation treatments was not working properly and they had come to investigate the possible causes of the problem. Upon deciding that yes, there was a problem with the machine, which of course didn’t work now because the power was out, the doctor and his daughter insisted that we get in their car and go to a pharmacy with power and test it there. So, with Jema driving, we set off into a black night and an entirely different view of Manta. In addition to the nonfunctioning street lights, many of the traffic lights were also unlit and we slipped and slid on wet, slick roads up and down the steep, winding city streets through a crazed checker board of darkness and illumination.

We found an open pharmacy and after turning on the device the doctor was able to ascertain that the compressor could not produce sufficient force to vaporize the medicine. This perplexed Dr. Cedeño, as it was a new machine, but he quickly thought up a solution. Once again, we set off through the rain-speckled, night streets in quest of another nebulizer at his office which was located in the teaching hospital at La Universidad Laica Eloy Alfaro de Manabi where he rounded daily. Upon our arrival at the university campus the doctor ran into his office only to discover that the equipment that he had envisioned loaning to us was no longer there. But, (Aha!) he had one other option, an older model in his office across town at the Clinica Americana where we had first met him.

Setting off on our quest once again, we talked about the improbability of this ever happening in the United States. A physician, with his medical-student daughter, making unsolicited house calls out of concern for the health of a patient. Both of them expressed incredulity at what we described and explained that it was quite common in Ecuador. Part of the physician’s job was to see the patient in the home, as necessary, and here the family would listen to the doctor and also be a part of assisting with patient care.

At last, with a serviceable machine in hand, we arrived safely at our apartment shortly before 11 PM and were deposited at the gates expressing our profuse, totally inadequate thanks for the care, concern and unbelievable efforts just bestowed upon us. Shaking our heads as we mumbled “incredible!” the thought dawned upon us that there had been no discussion of compensation. Only in Ecuador. Only in a land far away from where we once called home.

By Richard and Anita

In Sickness and in Health: Welcome to Ecuador

Posted on October 4, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 36 comments

View from our window

We arrived in Manta, Ecuador the first week of September and spent the first couple of days settling into our new apartment on the 11^th floor, stocking up the kitchen and looking at the Pacific view from our kitchen window (we’re in the lower rent unit which faces the city rather than the beach). And then… one of us (let’s use the Spanish word for sick, “Enfermo”, for our patient) was down with fever, chills and a gut-wrenching, racking cough that was accompanied by a growing sense of fatigue, malaise and a slowly increasing shortness-of-breath. And, not just for a short period of time but for days…

City view from the living room

When you’re traveling, health comes before everything else. Exploring a new environment or meeting other people just isn’t practical or even doable when you don’t feel well. Luckily, so far, when one of us has been down the other has been healthy and can run errands, track down a doctor or medication, heat up the chicken soup and generally act as a stand-in for mom, a cheerleader when the whining starts or an advocate when navigating a foreign medical system.

While we have a few health issues we’re generally fairly healthy but we’ve needed to find a doctor and /or dentist several times and in several countries in our two years of travel. When in need of medical care we’ve availed ourselves of our contacts to gain access to proficient heath care. We’ve asked the people from whom we were renting, reached into the expat community for advice and inquired through language schools or NGO’s where we were volunteering. It boils down to relying upon the knowledge of those who live in the community.

Once it became clear that Enfermo was not going to become well using our emergency supply of medications we reached out to find assistance. The fastest response came from our apartment manager who found a doctor who specialized in respiratory diseases; a pulmonologist by training. An appointment was set up for that afternoon and a taxi took us across town to the Clinica Americana, which, while only a block from the Malecon (the walkway along the beach), looked rather rundown on the outside and, while clean, old-fashioned looking on the inside.

Upon our arrival we were warmly greeted by the doctor who introduced us to his wife seated at the reception desk. The doctor spoke some English but called in his daughter, an outgoing second-year medical student, to join us and assist with the translation during the examination. We spent an hour in the doctor’s office during which he examined the patient and we all discussed Enfermo’s medical issues. We also engaged in conversations about the Doctor’s travels in the US to attend medical conferences and our travels in Central America. Before leaving, the doctor provided us with a prescription for medications we would need to pick up at the farmacia (most are available for the asking without a prescription). He most generously gave us samples of medications which we would need or were currently using. With a follow-up appointment in hand we willingly paid the nominal $40 consultation fee and departed.

The following week found us back for the scheduled appointment with the daughter again in attendance to assist with any translation difficulties. Poor Enfermo’s cough had improved but the feeling of fatigue and shortness of breath had become worse. A breathing treatment with a nebulizer was administered and the doctor doled out more samples of different antibiotics used in a combination one-two punch against the offender, bronchitis. He also graciously loaned us a nebulizer to continue a few more breathing treatments at home. Enfermo left the office a half hour later with new prescriptions, a third appointment date in another week and a more positive outlook about the prospects of a future recovery. We, again, gladly ponied up the nominal fee.

our favorite pharmacy!

There is an old saying that, “When you have your health you have everything” and at no time in our lives has that saying been more true than when we’ve been traveling. Being of the baby boomer generation we are much more aware of our health than, say, a traveler in the twenty to thirty year-old range. Realistically, we know that this is the best our health will ever be, right here and now. Additionally, we travel as partners sharing the fun and also the not-so-fun times that come with traveling as a lifestyle. We’re fully cognizant that pursuing our travel dream could come to a standstill if one of us becomes seriously ill.

Recuperating in our new home

Enfermo is much improved and, after being holed up in our apartment for an interminable period, we’re now looking forward to exploring Manta and Ecuador and sharing it with our readers.

By Anita and Richard September 2014

Back in the U-S-S-A

Posted on September 27, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 44 comments

The sun was well up as the plane descended into the Miami International Airport. It was just shy of twenty-three months since we’d loaded up two cars, deposited the keys with the property management company who would handle leasing our last substantial possession, our house on Padre Island, and headed north to drop off the last of the belongings with our son in Denver, CO. From there we’d flown to Mexico for several months of traveling around the Yucatan Peninsula followed by wanderings that encompassed every country in Central America. And now, we were coming back “home”; wondering if we’d experience the reverse culture shock that we’d heard about from other long-term travelers.

In Latin America we’d found border crossings to be either ridiculously easy affairs or protracted and potentially problematic even though we’d experienced nothing worse than inconvenient delays, minor price gouging and nasty public toilets. But the effortless return to the States was totally unexpected. We were directed to the Global Entry kiosks where we scanned our passports, filled in a bit of data, mugged for the camera, grabbed our print-outs and went to the friendly customs agents who welcomed us back home. Claiming our bags was not a problem and with no more than a nod and a smile we wandered off to find our next terminal to re-check our baggage en route to our first stop, Newark. So easy. It was all coming back to us. This is the States; things worked here, just like they were supposed to.

Since we’d been gone so long visiting family and friends was a priority and so we spent the month of August journeying from New Jersey to Virginia and then Washington, Colorado and, finally, Texas. However, besides catching up with F&F we came to S-H-O-P. We were consumers with a mission to replace everything that was battered, tattered and worn from months on the road. We needed new laptops; the original ones we had purchased were too large, too heavy and needed some major fixin’ expertise. New Kindle Fires had been ordered and awaited us at a relative’s home as well as new I-pods and all the other things that may not be essential but certainly make life easier as well as more enjoyable. We also replaced our luggage in a successful attempt to shed pounds by swapping out the 24-inch hard-sided, spinner-wheels suitcases. They were durable but not really practical for use on cobblestone streets or rutted roadways. And clothing; what we hadn’t abandoned in our last month in Panama was faded and limp, much of it obtained from the Nicaraguan stores called “Ropa Americanas” that sold slightly used clothing unwanted in the US. And so we shopped from the east coast to the west coast to the Gulf coast for the light-weight, quick-dry, no-fuss clothing necessary for the tropical climes. Lastly, we snagged new light-weight backpacks at REI in Denver as well as countless other little things on the list like vitamins, sunglasses, etc.

Consumerism is a crass word; it’s so negative and judgmental. It’s also quite apt. We shopped unabashedly. We shopped with glee and gusto. We shopped until we nearly imploded from sensory overload. It’s not possible for us to describe the experience. But a friend named Peter, a transplanted Floridian living in Costa Rica, referred to the US as the “land of too much” and in this we can wholeheartedly concur.

Kaleidoscope Shopping photo available at http://wallstcheatsheet.com/stocks/heres-how-frigid-weather-is-hurting-the-economic-recovery.html/? January 22, 2014

And the take-aways? The reverse culture shock we’d been told of by fellow travelers? There were a few moments that were a bit disorienting, especially in some of the mega-grocery stores but the culture shock was much less than we’d expected. However, some observations were duly impressed upon us.

Long distance travel in the States requires air transportation; flying is a necessary evil. There are really no practical or economical options. Of course, there’s Amtrak or Greyhound but chances are the destinations are not on the route or out-of-the-way. And, if you find a workable route it can take, literally, days to reach your destination and may actually be more expensive. For long distance traveling flying the friendly skies is really the only practical option. And for short distances it’s a private vehicle. Buses are inconvenient, cabs are prohibitively expensive and most cities are too spread out to be pedestrian friendly. Quite a contrast to our life on the road using feet, buses, shuttles, tuk-tuks, inexpensive taxis, pangas and water taxis; all forms of economical travel that don’t require an airport or SUV.

We put our home on North Padre Island on the market with little sentimentality and concern only for the market realities of supply/demand and what we may be able to pocket from the transaction. It was a wonderful place while we were there and we’d intended it as our retirement home. But, it became our last possession that kept us rooted to a place that no longer fitted our needs. We suspect that we’re abnormal in this regard but there are a whole lot of places yet to be seen.

So no; there was no culture shock. But there was no culture fixation either. The US is unique both in history and in current time. It is pre-eminent for many reasons. And we love it dearly. It has given us the freedom to pursue this passion of ours for travel and new experiences. We are not spurning the US; we are bidding a temporary adieu. We shall return to visit and okay, “consume” quite often.

By Richard and Anita

The Wood Gatherers: Living on the Edge

Posted on September 20, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 32 comments

During our travels in western Mexico and Central America we’ve become aware of how costly electricity is in Latin America. Many times our rent is the base price with the extra cost for the electricity added on by the week or month. Kitchens usually have cooktop stoves (ovens are rare) fueled by propane which is cheaper and no hot water line plumbed in. And several times, in budget accommodations, our showers have been cold to tepid also. This, we’ve been told, is the typical arrangement for most local dwellings.

It wasn’t until we were in the mountains of Chiapas State, Mexico, on our way to San Cristobal de Las Casas, that we first became aware of the people who gathered wood. This they gleaned as a fuel source primarily for home consumption uses such as cooking and heating. This basic commodity might be bound for the gatherer’s home or it might be for sale on the streets but it was the fuel choice of the lower echelon of society.

This type of labor takes place at the micro level of the economy, akin to the subsistence farmers of the campo – the country side – who tend small plots of land on the slopes of the hills or by the margins of the roads. It takes place off the grid and the harvesting is done in the thick forest or jungle. More often you see men, each with a machete dangling from their hand, and women or children, walking on the sides of the roads with their loads. Or you see the vendors in the small towns, in the markets, on the streets or hawking wood door-to-door.

Gathering wood is ubiquitous; it went on almost everywhere if one was watching for it. We saw it in the mountains of Chiapas and throughout the Petén rain forests of both Mexico and Guatemala. We saw it on the beaches in El Salvador, in the western highlands of Guatemala, the coastal regions of Honduras and in the northern hills of Nicaragua.

And we saw it in the city of Granada as well as on the Caribbean coast of Panama. Often the men and boys were seen with the large loads suspended from the tumplines around their heads or peddling bicycles with staggering loads strapped on front or rear. Or women trudging along the roads with armloads of wood or even trunk sections balanced on their heads or shoulders; they carried driftwood along the beaches and back towards the small homes away from the tourist areas.

Wood gathering is demanding and dangerous work as we came to learn. While housesitting in Antigua, Guatemala for three months we enjoyed using the fireplace on chilly nights and Alejandro, a young man, supplied our wood. One morning we asked about his “bandaged” hand which was wrapped in a cloth soiled by the work of wood gathering. He was missing the last joint of the ring finger due to a machete accident which had happened several weeks previously and was still in the healing process. A few months later we met Herman, now a middle-aged, panga boat captain from Utila, Honduras who told us of collecting buttonwood beginning at the age of six with his family. He would rise with his father and brothers well before dawn to row from their home on one small island to another spending the day chopping and gathering wood. Since the red sap of the buttonwood would destroy the few clothes they owned father and sons worked in their briefs or naked. Once the wood was gathered and bundled into uniform sized sticks of one-hundred pieces, they’d paddle to a third island to sell the wood and then paddle home to rest for another day.

In the lands where electricity is expensive and poverty is a reality, the necessity for firewood as a fuel will undoubtedly continue. Breathing in the smoke in homes not properly ventilated causes a lot of respiratory illnesses, especially in the young. However, it is the reality of those living in poverty and on the edge to rely upon this natural commodity and it will fall to those within that class to provide the labor which provides this necessity.

By Richard and Anita

A Tale of Three Cities: Panama City

Posted on September 13, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 22 comments

We celebrated our last few days in Central America and Panama and splurged a bit by returning to Panama City and renting a charming apartment in the tony area, Casco Viejo, with rooftop views of the city and the bay.

When thinking of Panama City the first thing that comes to mind is, of course, the Panama Canal. But Panama City is far more than this modern marvel and encompasses two old and venerable cities within its boundaries: Casco Viejo and Panama Viejo. In between these two entities, each of which shares the distinction of being selected as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, contemporary Panama City carries on its robust and active life with towering skyscrapers, billboards and neon signs and three and four lanes of traffic jammed with honking, speeding cars. All of which were jarring to our senses after days spent in a tranquil, seaside village.

Panama Viejo, or old Panama, is the oldest Spanish settlement on the Pacific coast of the Americas. Founded in 1519, it grew in importance as the Spanish empire expanded in South and Central America. Panama Viejo’s value to the crown was the fact that it served as the port city for most of the silver, gold, pearls and other loot that was stripped from the Andes of South America and the rain forests of Central America. From there it was moved overland, by land or water, depending on the season, to be transported to Spain. Not only did Panama Viejo flourish, it became a tempting prize for the many pirates who prowled the equatorial waters seeking lucre. Being alert to this danger the city was situated inland from the coast and fortified by a defensive wall.

Panama Viejo

It was put to the torch by its Spanish rulers just prior to being overwhelmed by the notorious pirate, Henry Morgan. He was now a more respectable English admiral but still commanded a pirate army that had crossed the isthmus after razing the garrison at San Lorenzo. Panama Viejo was abandoned and fell into oblivion except for providing building materials for the new city which arose at a point roughly six miles southwest along the coast. This site, later known as Casco Viejo, was protected by fortified walls and a reef which allowed access to the city only at high tide.

But the remains of Panama Viejo are magnificent and inspire an almost reverential awe as one walks among its ancient ruins. The old city’s remaining skeleton contained houses and a hospital as well as the remnants of the Cathedral with its adjacent tower which, as its medieval shape implies, probably served as a watch tower. The Iglesia de la Concepcion housed a convent for the nuns and their servants in addition to the church with its altar, sacristy and nun’s choir. The site’s location, quite near to massive, towering modern structures, offers a quick comparison of the fate of the long-ago dead in the modern era.

And the city that was literally rebuilt from many of the stones of Panama Viejo? This is the rapidly changing old quarter known as Casco Viejo, the Spanish colonial city that replaced the vestiges of Panama Viejo in 1673. When the Americans’ began construction of the Panama Canal in 1904 the old town of Casco Viejo was all that existed of Panama City. However, with the completion of the canal and the natural growth of the capital city many of the country’s elite began to abandon the old quarter and it deteriorated into an urban slum. The stately homes, hotels and government office buildings fell into disrepair. But recently, a new wave of gentrification has emerged and the process of decay is being reversed and eradicated. Even now, part of the charm of the place is the grungy disrepair which stands in stark contrast to the modernized and revitalized buildings.

If the trend continues, and there appears to be no reason at that this point to assume that it will not, Casco Viejo may be one of the most in-demand neighborhoods in the capital. It is filling rapidly with a mix of traditional Panamanian and gourmet restaurants serving a variety of menus aimed at satisfying every taste, chic shopping venues and large colonial buildings that are being converted to stylish condos. Most of the old churches remain along with many government buildings, the national theater and the original offices of the French Panama Canal organization. And so, Casco Viejo stands alongside Panama Viejo and the contemporary Panama City in a perfect trifecta and a tale of three cities.

By Richard and Anita

The Heartland of Panama and The Gringa of Guararé

Posted on September 6, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 48 comments

The Azuero Peninsula hangs off of the Panamanian underbelly like a squat appendage, jutting southwards into the Pacific. It’s been called “the heartland of Panama” and “the home of folklore and traditions” but at its heart it is the distillation of the old Castilian culture; the celebration of the vaquero – the cowboy and the landed gentry. Fittingly it is a land of voluptuous, softly rolling hills and breathtaking vistas, verdant green pastures, farmland and working cattle ranches.

For the modern world, it encompasses golden and white sand beaches, world-famous surf destinations, spectacular sport fishing, whale-watching, snorkeling, diving and sea turtle nesting areas. The eastern portion of the Peninsula, the most populous region, includes the city of Chitré, the smaller city of Las Tablas and the sleepy, seaside fishing village where we found ourselves, El Puerto de Guararé, (pronounced Gwa-RA- ray).

Although our perception of Guararé was of a town that had stepped back in time our hostess Bonnie Birker, owner of the friendly, seaside guesthouse Casa del Puerto, said it had progressed since her first arrival in 1967 as a Peace Corps volunteer. At that time La Enea de Guararé was fairly isolated with only one car in the entire area and roads of deep mud during rainy season. There was electricity but no phone service. Water was provided by a village pump and the homes had outside latrines.

Guararé was featured by Lonely Planet in 2000 and Bonnie, who prefers to be called a gringa from Guararé rather than an expat, realized that the town that had given her so many friends and memories had modernized and even had phone service. She returned to Guararé for good in 2006 after her retirement from a career as an international consultant in countries that included Honduras, Jamaica, South Korea, the Philippines and Nepal. She bought a large but unpretentious house with deep covered porches that overlook the wide expanse of the Pacific spread out in all its awesomeness.

The food in Guararé is well worth mentioning. It’s located on the coast and small fleets of boats set out twice daily in the early morning and near sunset and their catch graces the tables of many local restaurants. Most often we feasted on freshly caught corvina, or sea bass. Served with heads on – and sometimes staring eyes, too – they were easy to debone with a sumptuous, flaky, white meat. They came accompanied by the regional specialty of patacones – which we had previously called tostones in Nicaragua – or crisply fried green plantain patties. We also stuffed ourselves with fresh fish or shrimp ceviche. Late one afternoon we dined on fresh caught tuna on the southern coast of the peninsula. The bounty of the sea was never more lavishly available than in the Auzero.

During our visit Bonnie did her utmost to show us some the reasons why she had returned to the village of Guararé and the Azuero Peninsula. We visited Las Tablas for the National Festival of the Pollera held there each July. The Pollera, a descendant of the Castilian culture, is the females’ yang to the vaqueros’ yin. It is the quintessential national dress composed of a blouse and long, full skirt featuring the painstaking work of the Panamanian women with original and complicated, decorative embroidery and, many times, additional applique, crochet and lacework.

The festival included the presentation and judging of the Pollera in several categories, rodeo and equestrian events, craft and food vendors and a concluding parade. The latter displayed several dances with the men and women moving in a formal and stylized, intricate synchronicity while others featured the women – with many young girls imitating them – swirling and twirling holding the hems of their dresses up to display the gorgeous embroidery designs and a demure peek at the white-on-white lace and cutwork underskirts.

Many of the dresses involved hundreds of hours of skilled and careful needlework and the most elaborate were expensive by almost any standard. And, as if the Pollera needed any additional decoration, several long necklaces of gold were draped around graceful necks, sparkling beaded hair adornments sat atop glossy, black hair and eye-catching earrings dangled from lobes.

Towards the end of our time in the Azuero we spent a day traveling through the center of the peninsula to the southern coast, again with Bonnie. We drifted through established towns such as Tonosi in the rolling hill country, still much immersed in the cattle culture. Places such as these are the anchor of the peninsula, they are the heartland clinging to the more traditional. At the terminus of the journey we stopped at the beach town of Cambutal, with its rapidly expanding infrastructure reflecting the up-coming changes. Here, and elsewhere, are modern signature homes, boutique hotels, tony yoga retreats, funky eateries and up-scale restaurants all vying for the dollars possessed by the surfers, sun worshipers, eco-tourists, gringo retirees and wealthy Panamanians.

The Azuero Peninsula neatly encapsulates the tensions that exist as an established way of living cedes ground to the new. Surely benefits accrue in the wake of modernity but at a cultural cost. Bonnie, and her many amigos, represent those on the cusp, those who are witness to and participants in the changing of the guard. And in the Azuero, we were the fortunate ones who wandered through able to observe and appreciate the heritage and enjoy the perks offered by the latest and greatest.

By Anita and Richard

A Lot of Travel and a Few Complications

Posted on August 23, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 19 comments

We’ve put a lot of time in airports this month traveling around the US and visiting with family and friends in New Jersey, Virginia, Washington, Colorado and now, Texas. However, it wasn’t the time on the road that’s become the glitch in writing the blog or the time spent shopping for new gear for the next leg of our travels or even the time spent catching up on all that’s happened in the two years we’ve been gone. Replacing our heavier and older computers with newer models using Windows 8 has proven to be our downfall… ARGH!

So we’ve decided to take a break from posting stories of our travels and places we’ve visited for a couple of weeks. This way we can figure out the intricacies of our new computers and the Windows 8 operating system, catch our breaths and kick back for a few days.

Look for our next post on Saturday, September 6th, where we’ll finish our Panama series and then…Ecuador!

Thanks for reading our blog.

Anita and Richard, August, 2014

Panama Pictures And Panoramas

Posted on August 16, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 24 comments

Panama is the southernmost country of Central America and is comprised of a variety of stunning landscapes and seascapes, white and golden sand beaches, rolling hills with farm and ranch lands, mountains and, of course, cities and people. During our travels in July we took hundreds of photos and we wanted to share some of our favorites this week.

Panama City – skyscrapers and traffic

Skyscrapers and ruins Panama City

Panama Viejo in foreground – Panama City skyscrapers in rear

ruins at Panama Viejo UNESCO World Heritage Site

street art among the ruins and gentrification Panama City

Catedral Metropolitano in Panama City

festival masks

17th century church at Panama Viejo

Panama City skyscrapers

friendly game of checkers in the park – Panama City, Panama

Kuna woman in traditional dress – Panama City, Panama

Casco Viejo – UNESCO World Heritage Site Gentrification and restoration i

young girls wearing traditional clothes at festival, Panama

sunrise on the Pacific Guarare, Panama

Azuero Peninsula

the beach at Cambutal Panama

Pollera Festival, Las Tablas

Pollera Festival Las Tablas

the country side of the peninsula with a living fence

cows on the road Azuero Peninsula

verdant land

rice fields – Azuero Peninsula

Tonosi village Panama City

cow country Azuero Peninsula

Panama Canal Miraflores Locks

San Lorenzo UNESCO World Heritage Site

Lushly treed road to San Lorenzo

our Double-Decker bus to David

Boquete River with flood control

fishing by the docks Almirante,Panama

wild parrot Boca del Torro

dugout canoe with goods to sell

pond at the Smithsonian research center – Bocas del Toro

brute strength – Bocas del Toro

dugout canoe – Isla San Cristobal

What’s in a name? Bocas del Toro

flowering tree – Bocas del Toro

San Lorenzo 17th century Spanish cannon UNESCO World Heritage Site

Boquete

Bomberos – fire trucks – Bocas Town

old fire engine circa 1916 Bocas Town

a street scene after a rain Bocas Town

Bocas town graveyard – moldering and mildewing

Bocas Town waterfront

hanging nests of Montezuma Oropendola birds – Bocas del Toro

tugs maneuver ship into the Panama Canal

Bomberos – firetrucks Bocas Town

Quaint Abode Bocas Town

a little island charm Bocas Town

tallest building in Bocas Town

festival masks – Panama

Casco Viejo Hotel Columbia and other businesses

We’ve spent the month of August crisscrossing the US visiting family and friends on a long overdue trip back “home”. Our travels started at the beginning of the month flying in from Panama to New Jersey for a few days and followed by a ride to Washington D.C. via Amtrak. Later we flew to Spokane, WA. for a mini-family reunion. Another flight a few days afterwards took us to Denver, CO where we’re currently visiting more family including our son and grandson. Our last stop in the US will take us to Corpus Christi, TX before we head to South America in September. There we may just have to take some time off to recoup from a hectic month and catch our breaths!

Next week: More stories from Panama

By Anita and Richard

Some Sun, More Rain and the Journey to Bocas Del Toro

Posted on August 9, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 35 comments

Leaving David in the early morning we were off for the Caribbean coast to see the reputed number one tourist area of Panama – Bocas del Toro. The day was bright and hot, promising to be another scorcher. Feeling a little less confident about our navigating skills and, again, embarrassed at our fractured Spanish, it had taken us two circuits bumbling around the large and confusingly chaotic, triangular-shaped bus terminal of David before we found the boarding area for the bus bound for Chinguanola that would send us on our way . The bus was a twenty-four seat vehicle, a mid-size in the world of Panamanian buses, and it left David far from full, departing the terminal with only seven passengers. We headed east down the Pan-American highway which was under construction; a perpetual condition here in Panama we had been told.

We left the Pan-Am near Chiriqui and began the slow ascent towards the continental divide on our way to the archipelago of Bocas del Toro and Bocas Town on Isla Colon. As we climbed towards the summit the air cooled and it began to mist; wispy, feathery clouds crept out of the valleys and clung forlornly to the ridgelines. Peering down into the valleys revealed a fractured and folded terrain for Panama is a new land. Somewhere around four million years ago, an eye blink in geologic time, massive tectonic plates ground together and this magical landscape up-lifted and created the land bridge between the northern and southern continents.

http://www.eyeonpanama.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/panama_map_colon.gif

Just past El Valle de la Mina, near the summit of the continental range, the distinction between the sky and the road began to disintegrate rapidly. The white-greyness of the air merged with the grey-whiteness of the undelineated concrete highway and the misty rain played havoc with depth perception and object identification. The bus crept and climbed slowly along the dizzying curves of the winding road as the windows streamed with moisture.

As we descended from the summit and made our way to the coastal area, the visibility improved somewhat although it had begun to rain steadily and with great purpose. The bus stopped repeatedly, filled to standing room only and emptied and filled and emptied again, with chattering,neatly dressed, uniformed children finished with another day of school. The sky cleared briefly and the sweltering heat enveloped the land only to be replaced again by more heavy rain as the thunderheads moved in off the Caribbean.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Col%C3%B3n_Island#mediaviewer/File:Bocas_del_Toro_Archipelago_map.png

Almirante, the jumping off point for the water taxi to the Bocas del Toro archipelago and Bocas town, may have seen better days or perhaps it was always neglected and dirty. We grabbed a cab from in front of the dilapidated bus stop but the scenery only deteriorated further when we arrived at the waterfront where outhouses perched at the ends of docks extending out from ramshackle homes.

After purchasing our tickets for the water taxi we wrapped our backpacks in waterproof covers to protect our laptops from the rain and hunched protectively over the packs in our laps (rather resembling gargoyles at this point) as we hunkered down in the launch. Rain dripped down the sides of the canvas tarp overhead and splashed into the boat from the sides as the water taxi gained speed and we endured the half hour ride to the island.

And, you ask, was Bocas del Toro worth the time and effort? We might have to rethink scheduling any future visits during the rainy season, which according to one local, was one of the wettest years he could remember. However, most afternoons we could count on the sun making an appearance and a few hours of no rain so that we could explore around the colorful Bocas Town and the Isla Colon. We managed a day trip on a catamaran sailing to Isla de San Cristobal and Isla Carenero among numerous little islands.

We anchored a couple of times to swim and snorkel alongside a shore tangled with mangroves above a fantastical reef which included startling deep purple and brilliantly golden coral and other fabulously shaped and colored occupants. An amazing number of plumped up, rosy-colored starfish, resembling pictures from a children’s book, rested on the sand or draped over the coral inhabitants in the reef garden. Another day we unfurled umbrellas and spent a few hours following an energetic English expat as she showed us her incredible botanical garden paradise, Finca del Monos, spread over 27 acres.

So yes, our journey was well worth the time and effort and we were supremely comfortable and well cared for at Lula’s B and B. And hey, we’re not vacationers counting each precious day, despairingly waiting for sunshine and cursing the rain. We can be patient and enjoy the thunderstorms and downpours. We have time …

By Richard and Anita, Panama, July 2014

Neither Here Nor There: David And Boquete, Panama

Posted on August 2, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 39 comments

Panama is a country of a few large cities interspersed between small towns glistening with puddles following a rain or a coating of dust in the dry season, wide spots on winding highways often with magnificent, breathtaking scenery. And, at the end of yet another long bus ride, we found ourselves in David on our way to other places.

Our battered Lonely Planet Guidebook, a 2010 edition given to us by a friend in Nicaragua, advised us of to think of David (pronounced Dah Veed) as a major agro-business and commercial center rather than a cultural hub. Further digging informed us that it was a popular tourist destination and the second or third largest city in Panama, depending on the source, with a population of roughly 150,000 souls.

As the capital of the Chiriqui Provence, the city of David and the surrounding area is rumored to be attracting ever more foreigners interested in relocation and might even be poised on the brink of major growth in both its economy and population.

Although David was founded in 1602 there is very little sense of historical importance or any impressive architecture. Indeed, the present was much more in keeping with a city devoted to the reality of commerce minus the frills of the arts and letters.

The center of the city, which radiates outward from Parque Cervantes, is a utilitarian affair which quickly turns drab or run-down in a couple of blocks if you head in the wrong direction. And Cervantes Park, while neat and stylistic, is not particularly appealing to the eye or the seat of pants for the foot weary pedestrian or the casual people watcher.

Our guidebook, under the heading “Sights” had listed a single entry: the Museo de Historia y de Arte Jose’ Obaldia. We hoofed it over to the museum twice, both times during the posted hours, with consistent results. It was closed, padlocked shut; so much for the cultural part of our stay…

We took a bus out of David and headed up into the mountains, less than an hour to the north. Here we encountered Boquete, a quiet mountain town of roughly 5,000 people and prized by Panamanians for its refreshing climate and pristine natural setting.

This is the same locale selected a dozen years ago as one of the top four overseas destinations for retirement by Modern Maturity, the magazine of the AARP. So, aside from the gated communities which dot the hillsides, and are currently spilling onto the crowded valley floor, and disregarding the astronomical real estate prices which to seem to start at around a quarter of a million dollars, Boquete is an attractive place.

Due to the fertile soil, flowers, coffee and citrus all do well in this beautiful mountain town and the surrounding valleys. The city provides a picturesque central square which is clean, compact and welcoming for relaxed chats or simply watching the folks flow by. The presence of sweaters and light jackets might be what confirms the fact that one is in the mountains rather than at a beach resort judging by the relaxed and convivial atmosphere of the people.Returning to David from the crisp and invigorating climate of Boquete we couldn’t help but compare the two cities. Perhaps the geography best sums up our apathetic response to David. One city nestled in the mountains and the other, situated below a dormant volcano, sweltering in a basin with reputedly one of the hottest climates in the Central American region. It was definitely time to blow this burg and head for points more interesting and, hopefully, a little cooler!

Transportation to anywhere else…

By Richard and Anita, Panama, July 2014

In The Zone: The Panama Canal

Posted on July 19, 2014 by Anita @ No Particular Place To Go 38 comments

We left Costa Rica on the Tica Express Bus at midnight for what turned out to be a sixteen hour bus trip from hell (think freezing cold air conditioning and the passenger in front of us lying almost in our laps). However, we were on our way to Panama City and a visit that we’d dreamed of for many years: the Panama Canal. Several years ago we’d watched an impressive documentary about the building of the Panama Canal and, since then, seeing the Canal had been one of our big bucket list items.

A waterway between the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans had been a dream since the explorer and conquistador, Vasco Balboa, first claimed the western sea for the Spanish crown in the 16th century. However, by the turn of the 20th century it appeared to be more of a fools’ delusion as the French had lost a veritable fortune and an estimated 20,000 lives between the years 1881 to 1884 attempting this folly. But less than twenty years after the French catastrophe, science and technology had progressed sufficiently in divergent fields to allow this ambitious aspiration to become a fully functioning engineering reality.

<http://wwnorton.com/college/english/naal8/section/volD/maps.aspx>

Scientists, among them Dr. Walter Reed, established that malaria was transmitted by a mosquito and, through an aggressive campaign on many fronts, effectively halted the pestilential killer during the construction. New earth moving machines such as drag-line shovels and moveable dredges made mass excavation possible on a scale previously unimaginable. And concrete, at the time a novelty for heavy civil construction, was used as the predominant building material. All of this newly acquired knowledge, scientific components and machines allowed the work to begin in earnest.

But perhaps the most phenomenal aspect of the canal was the elegantly simple notion to use gravity to raise the ships from sea level through a series of locks over the continental divide and then return them to sea level on the other side of the isthmus. Sir Isaac Newton would surely have been proud.

For the better part of two days our venues were the Visitors’ Centers, first at the Miraflores Locks on the Pacific side and subsequently the Gatún Locks on the Caribbean side, gaping at the massive ships as they transited the canal through the system of locks and lakes that comprise this international waterway. Call us hicks but this was one show for which we had both been eagerly awaiting; it was bigger than the big top at the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus we’d attended as kids.

We were still struggling with the concept of gravity as the main character in the live drama before us when we realized that a very large container ship, the MSC ELA, was actually sinking into the center lock at the Miraflores. It wasn’t really sinking; the water was being equalized with the adjoining chamber so that when the gates opened the ship would glide towards the final lock gates. This commercial behemoth was being held firmly in the center of the canal by eight mechanical mules (locomotives) with their sixteen hawsers.

What was even more astounding was that there were approximately eighteen inches of clearance between the sides of the ship and each canal wall. These last gates would open, when all was stabilized, and the MSC ELA would be free to resume her voyage to the Pacific side of the American continent.

That this entire operation was one hundred years old in 2014 was a staggering thought. The lock gates, forged in Pennsylvania a century before, were performing magnificently. The major modification occurred in 1998 and changed the forty horsepower motors which drove the bull gears, the massive ratio-reduction system of cogged wheels, to a pneumatic system. But ultimately the key to the longevity was rigorous maintenance and that was evidenced all around us as we watched the ships transit north and south though the canal.

So much of what we saw was attributable to the efforts of individuals on a regular and recurring basis. This was true from the surveyors who shot the original grade to the laborers who manned the shovels and dredges; from the men who operated the Canal Zone as an American enterprise until the transfer on December 31, 1999, to the country of Panama and the Panamanians who now provide this vital service to the world.

By Richard and Anita

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