CA-4 - Reflections/The Journey Home

4/20/14

Aboard Avianca 670, En Route SAL-JFK

As I checked my email for the final time before we left the ground, I saw that I had received the nicest email from Fernando, thanking me for the “awesome tip” and “awesome comments on Viator.”  I was so glad to provide him with both, firmly believing in rewarding that which has been earned.  He also added that he hoped life rewarded me for the good I did, meaning that lives I helped through the money I infused into the Central American economy.  Ever meal I purchased, every souvenir I bought, it all helped make someone’s life a little easier, helped them feed their family.  That was not why I did not, certainly not to “do good,” in the world, certainly not in hopes of some kind of Karmic reward.  No, I did it for one single purpose, to say “CA-4 Complete,” which was a necessary piece of the puzzle in saying “North America Complete.”  I had said that, not considering U.S. and Canada, Mexico would be the only major obstacle between me and “North America Complete” if this trip was a success.  Almost immediately, I realized that I had forgotten one of the biggest variables: Cuba.  I don’t doubt 4 days in Cuba would be enough to say “Cuba Complete,” including spending sufficient time in Havana and seeing the cigar factories.  It’s getting there that’s the problem.  I’m not planning to go there until next summer, and I am holding out hope that the travel ban would be lifted before then.

After I said, “CA-4 Complete,” while Fernando and I were having lunch today, he mentioned that he thought that my original plan was to also include Costa Rica, which certainly would have been too much for the limited time we had.  I said that I needed a 3-day weekend to visit all the WHS there and went to look it up.  My heart sank.  I knew that there was a WHS bordering Panama, one bordering Nicaragua, and a third off the Pacific Coast, easy enough to do in 3 days.  I then realized that the island was 300 miles off the coast, obviously not doable as a day trip.  It would take at least 10 hours each way to get there, meaning I needed at least 5 days for the trip, and that was a very aggressive estimate.  I read that it would take 30 hours to get there, meaning I would probably need to budget at least 4 days just for the island, not to mention the cost in dollars.  The thing was, I had known this, and yet, when I booked my last-minute trip to Panama and rearranged my Central America plans, I completely forgot about, relegating Costa Rica to a 3-day weekend.  I can find the vacation days I need to do that trip as my 2016 Passover trip, as originally planned, which should be enough time to say “Costa Rica Complete” in one trip.  I can also just do a 3-day weekend for the other two WHS and use Passover 2016 to do the island, the only difference in price being the extra airfare, which will be much less than cost of the boat charter.

I have figured out how to do Mexico Complete in 2- and 3-day trips as necessary, so I am well on my way to saying “North America Complete,” but it will not be as smooth as I had thought.  That said, I absolutely love Central America.  It is one of the most beautiful places in the world, along with the similar landscapes of the interior of the Caribbean islands.  I was trying to come up with a name to group Central America and the Caribbean together.  The best I could come up with was “The North American tropics,” which is not much easier to type than “Central America and the Caribbean.”  The roads with palm trees in the foreground and mountains in the background are so beautiful that it makes you never want to leave.  Fuck the turquoise waters and pink beaches.  Those do nothing for me.  Fernando summed it up when he said that I don’t travel to relax.  I do it because I like the challenge.  In that moment, I realized that he fully understood me and why I travel.  When I look at my calendar and see a month where I am travelling for three weekends, I know that that fourth weekend will be the relaxing weekend in Scarsdale.  It is even far more relaxing for me to come into work on a Saturday, spend half the time working at the cigar store, and come home to parent’s house in Scarsdale for dinner than it for me to be travelling.  These are not “vacations,” they are trips.  They are journeys, quests in the never-ending road to Complete.

As I was getting changed last night, I started singing a parody of “One Day More,” which summed up the trip.  It went something like this: “One day more./Another day, another legislature/On this never-ending road to Complete/This guide who seems to know my way/Will surely stay another day./One day more.”  In the end, we did it.  He was excited as I was when I said “CA-4 Complete,” rightly proud of the work we did, the challenges we overcame.  He was young enough to also enjoy the challenge, yet mature enough to have enough of an understanding of the world that he provided interesting analyses on the difference between his culture and mine.  One of the differences was how people do not waste food here.  Every bite of food is precious, and they let nothing go to waste.  When he picked up my burgers at McDonald’s, asking for it without bread, everyone there was shocked.  Why would someone not want the bread?  It’s free.  It’s wasting money not to eat it.

It is something that I understand but have never really had to experience.  Sure, there have been times in my life where I have nearly emptied my bank account on cigars and frivolous expenditures, so much so to the point that I have had to struggle to eat, but that was by choice.  I chose the cigars over having money for food.  I chose to spend my entire week’s food budget going to some ridiculously expensive restaurant.  These people have no such choice.  If they are struggling for food, they are sacrificing everything else they can to make sure they have money for food.  It’s not the other way around.  The culture of corruption that is abound in the police and government is something that is not found in North America proper (U.S. and Canada).

The police, too, are struggling for money.  They make an order of magnitude less than what a NYC police officer makes, counting benefits.  Of course they are always looking for a little something extra, someone who went the wrong way down a one-way street to buy them breakfast.  We don’t see that in North America.  Cops are well-paid, and they value their jobs.  To get caught accepting a bribe would likely mean jail time.  Politicians also know that they will go to jail if they accept bribes.  It’s not like here where their political career can survive a minor scandal, and they can just flee the country if it’s something serious.  Fernando said that he didn’t think democracy was working here, and I agreed with him to some extent.  He preferred a more socialist government, not pure communism but rather one where more social services are offered.

I have been thinking why democracy and capitalism works so well in North America but not in Central America.  I don’t think it can be attributed to a lack of natural resources, nor to the heat.  I think it’s because they don’t have a true democracy.  By democracy, I mean a republican form of government, where the people decide their own fate without oppressing the rights of the minority.  The military and police still have too much control.  There is not enough transparency, and there is too much corruption.  I have no doubt that a completely free and open democracy with Lasseiz Faire capitalism would be successful.  It might take a while for the wealth to be created through the capacity to think of people like Fernando, but it would work eventually.  There is just still too much oppression for these countries to be considered a true democracy.  When I went to Panama, it was a taste of Central America.  This trip was the real deal.  Belize will just be a trip to see a legislature and a reef, while Costa Rica will be something different entirely.  This was my trip to Central America.

When I set out to see the world, one of my stated goals was to see every continent.  That quickly became every region.  Though it is not one of my 17 goals, it will be necessary just by the virtue of my crazy year of travel last year and what I am planning for the next four.  I love Central America so much.  I love The Pan-American Highway.  I love the tiny road-side towns where you can stop for lunch and a beer.  I love the Mayan ruins.  I love that each country has its own individual identity, in addition to the shared identity of Central America.  I love the beautiful landscapes.  Much of this is true for the tiny islands in the Caribbean, and they make up for what they don’t share with Central America with their own charm, as I discussed in previous reflective entries.  The charm of Central America is different, and I think I like it better.  Other than my trips to Belize and Costa Rica (and Mexico), I will not return to Central America, and CA-4 is really the heart of Central America, for quite some time.  I will certainly not return before I turn 30, but I would like to include a week-long trip at some point in my 30s, a trip of enjoyment and not fulfillment.  My dinner is here, so I will need to pause.

I like to say that the Canadian Arctic is my favorite place in the world, ignoring the fact that I have never been north of the Arctic Circle, instead counting the zone between 60N and 66.7N as part of the Canadian Arctic.  The North American tropics are a close second.  For me, the Canadian Arctic symbolizes relaxation, while the North American tropics symbolize quaintness.  My readers will recall how I criticized people for coming back from Antigua thinking only of the quaintness of the islanders and might call out hypocrisy here.  The obvious difference is that I am saying I enjoy the quaintness while understanding the reality of the situation.  I know that a decade-old sign in front of a library that says “REPAIRS ARE PENDING” is not quaint.  It means that an entire generation of kids has not had access to literature, to knowledge.  I enjoy the quaintness of the whole experience while searching for a deeper understanding of their culture.  I am not about to do anything to change their society, nor would I even want to try.  I enjoy exploring new cultures, learning the ins and outs of each one, comparing and contrasting different societies around the world, but that is not why I travel.

I travel for the sole purpose of checking boxes off my list.  Sure, I will incorporate other activities, but I will not plan a trip unless I can incorporate one of my 17 goals into the trip.  I may have reasons that motivate a trip, but, if it does not serve one of my 17 goals, I will not take the trip.  That is why I will not be going back to Comic Con before I turn 30, maybe not even back to Dragon Con if I can find another way to do Congaree NP without having to do a trip down there just to see that park.  These are conventions that I love.  It used to be that I would only travel to go to one of these conventions, never missing a Star Wars Convention, and hitting up as many of the major Comic Conventions as I could.  Dragon Con was my lifeblood, and I so want to go back, yet I know that I will miss at least 3 of the next 4.  I really want to go one more time before I turn 30, but it does not appear to be in the cards.  Every time I have gone to a convention since I got my passport has been just a side stop during a much larger trip.  During Eurotrip, the trip so overwhelmed Celebration that I just wanted a couple of days to relax in Essen.  Sure, I went to the convention each day, but it was just going through the motions.

Celebration VII will be different, the first new SW movie in a decade, and the trip will be planned around it.  I may have to duck out to hit a National Memorial that I stupidly forgot on my Redwoods trip, but the trip will be about the Celebration.  I will do it up right, just like the Celebrations of old, getting involved in the action, attending the panels, collecting the autographs, interacting with artists, the very things that used to make me love conventions, but priorities change.  For now, my major priority is my 30 Goals, but I can’t guarantee that it will last until I’m 30.  One thing I do is constantly book trips 11 months in advance, which makes sure that I can’t just tire of my travel, since I have things booked for the next 11 months.  It keeps the wheels in motion, making it very expensive to just get bored and give up.  Besides, I am so far on the goals, 57% of the way there.  I have not yet said Complete to any of the goals, but I am getting very close with US Winter Stadiums, just needing Salt Lake City, which was supposed to be in June but keeps getting pushed back, and with Canadian Territories, which I should finish off in Whitehorse this summer.

I firmly believe that that vision I have of smoking a ridiculously expensive Cuban in front of the Hawaii Volcanoes NP plaque will provide me with the encouragement and motivation I need to complete all 17 goals.  There are times when I’m tired of travelling, but I’m actually just plain tired.  There are times when I am ready to give up, but then I just start planning my next trip on the flight home.  I set 17 goals for myself, and, in the process, I am seeing the world.  I have seen more of the world in the past year or so than 90%, maybe 99% of the U.S. population sees in their whole life, and yet the next year so will take me further and further away from where I have ever been, sending me to more extreme points of each cardinal direction, bring me even further outside my comfort zone, testing the very limits of prudence and possibilities.  I will now close so that I can get a little bit of sleep and then properly treat The Journey Home when I get back to NYC.

4/21/14

En route, NYC Taxi 5A75

As I gave the taxi driver my address, I knew that The Journey Home was coming to end, but I first must recount the steps that led there.  After I closed, I breezed through security, and I had plenty of time left to get to my gate.  The gate was all the way at the other end of the terminal, and, stopping for rum and cigars and to take a U, I think it took me close to an hour before I stopped for dinner right by the gate.  On the way in, I had seen tables marked for inspections for U.S.-bound flights, but I hadn’t gone through that when I went to immigration, so I thought I might have avoided it.  I saw so many stands with great souvenirs, but I constantly reminded myself that I had all the souvenirs I needed, and I held firm.  I considering stopping at Subway for dinner, but I decided against it because the line was so long.  My flight was at 7:50 PM, and I stopped for dinner at 6:30 PM, ordering the steak.  At 6:57 PM, my food was not there.  I told him, in Spanish, that I had a flight and couldn’t wait any longer.  Somehow, magically, a minute later, out came my overcooked, tiny piece of steak.  If it hadn’t I would have just walked up and left.  There is no sense of urgency in Central America, and it is what bothers me the most about this otherwise wonderful place.  I scarfed it down and paid my check.  Then I saw it, the inspection tables.

I worried about two things, first that they might unpack my stuff and make it a headache and a half to repack all of my souvenirs.  Second, that they might say something about my cigars, seeing as I had over 50 of them.  They didn’t care about the latter, and, for the former, they looked at the first t-shirt-wrapped replica, decided the whole bag was the same, and let me go.  When I got to the ticket counter, my first class ticket was waiting for me.  My original plan was to write my reflective entry, fall asleep, and then go straight from Kennedy to the office, writing “The Journey Home” from the office.  I then changed to Plan B, where I would sleep first so that I could wake up after midnight and combine the reflective entry with “The Journey Home.”  None of that worked out.  I couldn’t fall asleep, so I started on the reflective entry.  They served dinner, the options being either ravioli, not an option, or fish, which I did not want to have again.  I told him that I was okay and didn’t anything.  Then, he offered me chicken, which was perfect and delicious.  Not wanting to drink anything more than the glass of champagne I had had when I first got on board, I got a glass of water to go with it.  I paused to eat and resumed after my meal.  I was able to soon fall asleep.  I woke up as we made our final approach and saw the NYC skyline, familiar even at night from the distance.  We were 30 minutes early, and, so, we arrived at Kennedy, whence just over 9 days past, I departed on this voyage.  I prepared to head to my office.

After struggling with the kiosk, I got my receipt.  My bag came very quickly, and I went right through customs.  It was still before 2:30 AM, when our flight was originally scheduled to land.  I realized that I could write the entry en route and be at my apartment by 3AM, asleep by 3:30 AM, get 4 hours of sleep, and still be at the office before 8AM.  That was exactly what I did, which was why I gave the taxi driver the address for my apartment instead of “43^rd and Lex.”  I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, since The Journey Home is coming to an end, and I am almost at my apartment.  It was an amazing trip.

CA-4 Complete

4/20/14 (Easter)

Monseñor Óscar Arunlfo Romero International Airport, El Salvador (SAL)

I love it when a plan comes to together.  I often talk about the triumphant airport entry being the highlight of the trip, and this will be such an entry.  There was one obstacle that remained between me and CA-4 Complete, the El Salvador legislative building.  Fernando had told me that it was in a complex closed off and that we might not be able to see the building.  I wasn’t too worried.  Everything so far had worked out, so I had no doubt that this small thing would also work out.  I should have worried.  I did not set an alarm, sleeping past 10AM and then having to race to breakfast, which was still available.  I just had bacon, eggs, and coffee, turning down the “Salvadorian Breakfast,” which was identical to the “Honduran breakfast.”  I had thought that my flight was at 11:30 PM and, knowing that I would have to drop off the car at 6PM, I checked to see if there was an earlier flight.  I learned that my flight was at 7:45 PM, which meant that I needed to be at the airport before 5PM.  It was a good thing I checked.  Otherwise, I would have ran the risk of missing my flight.  I spent about an hour packing after breakfast, making sure everything was perfectly organized so that I could easily display my pins and replicas and the office, distribute my gifts, and bring the rest to Scarsdale.  More likely than not, all the money and effort I spent in collecting the souvenirs, other than the pins and replicas, will just sit in a pile in my old room at my parent’s house in Scarsdale with the rest of the souvenirs I have collected from around the world.

We checked out and headed the legislature.  Unwilling to let failure there ruin my trip, I tried to consider my definition of success, accepting anything that made me feel as if I saw it as success.  After stopping for me to get my Sunday newspaper and gas up, we got there, and there was a big sign out front that said “Palacio Legislativo” with the legislative office buildings and a big El Salvador flag.  That would have been enough for me, but, undeterred, Fernando tried to get me inside so that I could take a picture in front of the “Salon Azul,” where they actually met.  He begged and pleaded, saying I had come all the way from New York.  Nothing worked, but the guard called his manager, who in turn said he would call one of the Deputies.

After no response, I said that I would be fine taking the picture at the entrance to the complex with the sign that said “Palacio Legislativo.”  We took some pictures and, triumphantly I lit up my Bolivar, the last one I would smoke, the one I had been saving for this very moment.  Saying it out loud instead of muttering it, I turned to Fernando and said, “El Salvador Complete.  CA-4 Complete.”  I’m sure he did not know exactly what I meant by Complete, but he certainly got the gist of it and agreed with me.  I then added, “I love it when a plan comes to together,” which was all the more fitting as I smoked my cigar.  As I puffed on the Bolivar, we recalled all the adventures of the past 6 days, everything that led us to this moment, and all the near misses.  Then, it was time to move on, and we headed to the lake, stopping at the main square, which had the Palacio Nacional and the cathedral where Bishop Romero, the namesake of this airport, was shot.  We parked illegally, and an officer started writing a ticket.  Fernando said that he had an American tourist who wanted to take some pictures, and the officer immediately stopped.  We didn’t even have to “fix” it.

When we got to the lake, we got lunch at the cooperativo that Fernando had recommended for lunch.  It was an amazing view and an excellent place to end the trip.  I will talk more about the beauty of Central America in the reflective entry, but it was quite the scenic spot.  I had some more amazing coffee, along with some fried fish.  I smoke my 3 Reinas Esteli cigar during the meal, ignoring the looks of silent condemnation.  After the meal, we headed to a vista of the lake, but it was too dark to take a proper picture.  In the end, we found a spot, and I got a great picture.  Our plan for the ride back was to stop at 4:20 PM for out 4/20 celebration before going to the airport.  We were actually a little ahead of schedule for once.  I paid the bill, and handed a coin for a tip to the busboy.  I had thought he was our waiter, and, when he looked at me funny, I was appropriately embarrassed.  In the end, the coin got to the right party.  Once we got back in the car, I handed Fernando the balance of what I owed him, along with his tip.  As I had said in previous entries, I gave him a tip of double what I had planned, 40% of his total fee.  He was clearly very grateful, and I told him honestly that he had earned every penny.

As we drove back, he asked what he did well, and what he could do better.  Here was the best tour guide I had ever had, and I could not find a single negative word to tell him.  I told him all the things he did well, as I mentioned in my previous entry, and gave him advice on how to be more successful in his tour guide business, suggestions he took to heart.  I explained that while there were probably some things others might consider rude, it did not bother me in the slightest, but he needed to make sure he knew his audience.  He then told me about his experiences working at the call center, and it was very interesting listening to him explain about it, along with the cultural differences we had been exploring the entire trip.  It was approaching 4:20 PM, and we were getting close to the airport, so we pulled over.  We got back on the road, and we were almost at the airport.  I realized that I smelled, and I did not want to risk anything with Customs at either end.  I also really wanted to have one last Cohiba before I left.

We returned the car, took one last picture together, said our goodbyes, and that was that.  I checked in, trying to use my Star Alliance status for an upgrade, but they told me I would have to do it at the gate.  That was fine.  I went back to the area outside departures, where Fernando and I had first met and began our excellent journey together.  I lit up my Cohiba, which I knew would mask the smell, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, so that I can publish and upload some photos.

The Ignorant Tourist

4/19/14

En Route, The Pan-American Highway, Honduras

As we pass along The Pan-Americam Highway from one end of Honduras to the other, most likely nonstop, preparing to enter El Salvador whence I will depart back home, I can state that I am relieved for the trip to come to a close.  It has been thoroughly exhausting.  I brought pages of Aristotle readings and lots of business work, but I have not gotten any of it done.  The daytime drives have been too beautiful, while I have been too tired at night, only having time to write this entries before I took my naps.  We slept in a little bit, waking up at 8:30 AM, and we ordered a traditional Nicaraguan breakfast brought to the room.  It consisted of eggs, fried cheese, some kind of mashed sausage, and their traditional dish, pinto gallo (rice and beans with cream), along with, of course, really good coffee.  I had a few bites of the pinto gallo and scarfed down the rest.  It was a delicious first official meal in Nicaragua.  Our first stop of the day was the legislature building, which we found with no difficulty.  We took the pictures and made our way to the souvenir market.  Almost immediately, we were honked down by a police car.  Fernando had gone the wrong way down a one-way street.  The officer insisted that he show us the way to the souvenir market.  By insisted, I mean that he still had Fernando’s license and our car’s registration.  We didn’t have much a choice.  Fernando told me how much of a bribe to offer “para gasoline,” and I handed him the banknote.  The officer said it wasn’t enough.

In the end, we gave him two of those banknotes, enough for the two officers to buy themselves breakfast.  The souvenir market was perfect, and I got everything I needed, including an assortment of gifts for people back home and some coffee beans.  I took the wheel, and we headed to our first WHS of the day, the Ruins of Viejo Leon, an abandoned Spanish city.  During the drive, I managed to hit the magic 161 km/h after twice having to put on the breaks right at 160 km/h.  We were only stopped one time and let go right away.  We had some difficulty finding the site, but, soon enough, we found the entrance.  We parked our car and went towards the VC.  A security officer then uttered the dreaded word: “Cerrado.”  There had been an earthquake, and the site was closed off for safety reasons.  We had raced like maniacs to get to Tikal before it closed.  We had woken up at 5AM so that we could fit in Quirigua and Copan in the same day.  We had done untold damage to our car’s internal workings and driven on roads that were not meant to be driven on by a sedan to visit Rio Platano.  And now a little earthquake was going to stop me from saying CA-4 Complete?  I did not think so!

Not messing around, I offered him two American banknotes, one of which should have been more than enough.  To my shock, he turned me down.  Fernando begged the guy, saying that I had come all the way from New York to see this site, that I had wanted to see every WHS site in Central America and that this was my last, anything he thought might work.  I then offered him my entire wad of American banknotes, probably significantly more than he makes in a week.  He turned me down.  Fernando kept begging.  In the end, the security guard had his kid lead us to a place where we could see some ruins from the road.  We got to a poorly kept barbed wire fence, and I offered the kid one of the banknotes, which he begrudgingly accepted.  It was the nomination photo.  Technically, I should probably call them inscription photos.  We snuck in through the barbed wire fence, and I went inside one of the foundations to take a U.  Yes, reader, I took a U on 500-year-old foundations of a Spanish city.  Triumphantly, I lit up my Cohiba as we walked around.  We then saw another security coming towards us and hurried back to our car.  We had not yet taken a picture of me, just taking pictures of the site.  I knew that I needed that picture and that, once the security guard caught up with us, it would be too late, but he was in no hurry.  We got the pictures and snuck back out the fence.  The security guard told us to leave and walked away.  I told Fernando that, in the U.S., we could have gotten arrested for that.  Fernando excused himself to take a leak, and I told him that, in the U.S., we say to take a U.

I still had plenty of my cigar left, and we made our way to new Leon, the site of a Spanish cathedral and the last WHS of the trip.  We easily found the inscription photo, and I said “Nicaragua Complete,” adding that it was time to go smoke some cigars, since our next stop was Esteli.  As I did the past two days, once I said the Complete, I handed Fernando the keys.  There were plenty of souvenir stands by the cathedral, and I got a replica and some keychains, including one that had a picture of the inscription photo.  Not really on any kind of tight schedule, we stopped for our last cup of Nicaraguan coffee as I finished my Partagas.  We made our way to Esteli.  At one point, we mentioned that we didn’t want to get to the hotel at 3AM again.  I said that it was not the latest I ever arrived at a hotel, telling him my Budapest story.  We had set the location for Drew Estate into the GPS, so I lit up an Uzi, which was made by Drew Estate, as I began the story.  I am going to have to pause now, as writing on these bumpy and windy roads is making me nauseated.

Alright, I’m going to finish this so that I can take my nap.  I was a little unsure what we would find once we arrived at our destination, but I was not to be disappointed.  There was a huge cigar factory, but it was closed.  That did not stop us from taking a few pictures, and that was it.  Other than tomorrow’s legislature, I we had done everything I wanted and more.  We got some advice on where we could eat and where we could buy some cigars.  All I needed before I left Nicaragua was a Victoria beer and some fried chicken.  After quite a bit of searching, we found a place.  I ordered some wings, and he said that I could either get them breaded or spicy.  I didn’t want them either, but spicy was the lesser of two evils.  I also ordered some garlic shrimp and carne asada.  It was a lot of food, but I finished all the meat after wiping the sauce off the wings.  I didn’t understand why he couldn’t have just served me the unbreaded wings without sauce.

The place to buy cigars was down the block.  They didn’t have any Drew Estate cigars, but they did have Joya de Nicaragua, a brand that I like.  The cigars were very underpriced, but I didn’t feel like buying a box, since I already had too many cigars.  I instead opted for a nicely packaged 3-pack called Celebration, since I was in a celebratory mood.  I lit up the cigar, put our hotel in the GPS, and we were on our way.  The nausea is now getting the better of me, so I think that I will close and treat the entirety of the drive and our two border crossings once I get to San Salvador, as has become a tradition the past few days.  If I am feeling up to it, I will do the philosophy section once we get over the Honduras/El Salvador border, but I am going to try for a nap now.

En route, The Pan-American Highway, El Salvador

The theme of tonight’s entry will be the ignorant tourist.  Reader, I am never the ignorant tourist.  I do not embark on a trip anywhere without learning the local customs, what to do and what not to do, how to get in to and stay out of trouble.  I am always fully prepared, knowing exactly what I want to do and where I want to go.  That said, I am not afraid to ask for directions.  I am not hesitant to hire a guide if I am at all uneasy or unsure, even if it is just as a safety net so that I’m not alone and that I have someone to share in the driving and help me through the finer intricacies of local customs.  I received far more value from Fernando as a cultural interpreter than I did from him teaching me about the sites.  The most value of course came from the extra body in potentially unsafe areas and someone to do the nighttime driving.  The GPS helped us with directions more than his instinct, and I had already done my own research on each site.  I will be giving him a very generous tip tomorrow, and the value he has provided has far exceeded his fee.  He is, by far, the best tour guide I have ever had, and I will never have a better tour guide.

When I go to Costa Rica, I am considering hiring him and paying for him to meet me there.  I probably won’t need as much help with the driving, and it is a much safer country, so I will likely just do it on my own, just as I could have done this trip on my own.  I’m sure I could have worked the trip so that I could have gotten 6 hours of sleep a night, especially if I had cut back on the time for meals and stops, as I would have done on my own.  My Spanish is decent enough that I didn’t need a translator, but it was nice to have some help there.  I arrived at SAL, fully prepared to be stood up, ready to do the trip on my own if need be.  With his companionship, I had no problem playing the part of the ignorant tourist.  I had no problem letting him order for me, deal with the police and border crossings, ask around for souvenirs, etc.  I could have done all of that on my own.

I am used to the look I receive from the locals.  A white guy wearing a suit walks into a Central American town, and everyone stares.  It is not quite that they are looking down on me, but it was as if they were looking at me, challenging me to look down on them.  It is a very familiar look.  I will never look down on someone who works hard to make a living for himself and/or his family, as most of the people do here.  I will certainly look down on someone who is lazy and looks to the government for support or who thinks the world owes them something, but that is not the case here.  I’m smarter, cleverer, more rationally thinking than most people, but to extend that to imply that I think I am better than someone is too much of a reach.  In fact, I believe that most people here are extremely hard-working, and I respect them for that.  I wish that that was a more common work ethic here.  I know too many people that are not hard-working, that are very lazy, that think the world owes them something, and I look down on them for that.

I do not look down on people who lack intelligence, so long as they use the intelligence they have.  I do look down on people who do not think rationally, who prefer superstition and ignorance to logic and fact.  Why do I mention all of this?  It is because of that look I get when I get out of the car wearing my suit (or even not wearing it), that look daring me to look down on them.  When we got to one checkpoint, the officer insisted I was on a business trip.  When Fernando told me about that, I said that he should have told the officer that I wear the suit because I look good in it, and it’s true.  I also love the irony of hiking in the suit, and I have ever since the Masada dare.  It is such a classic picture for me to be on some hiking trail, somewhere in nature, wearing the suit, smoking a Cuban, holding my water bottle, taking a selfie.  Now, with the uniform challenge, always wearing the same shirt, it will be even more iconic.  I’m surprised that Fernando didn’t say anything, especially since I made a point of picking out my shirt for the morning in front of him while still wearing the same shirt.  Other than the day in Guatemala where we didn’t cross any borders, I have worn the identical outfit every day.  Tomorrow, I will wear my departure outfit, so that will be a little bit of a change.

Nothing more clearly says tourist than wearing a dark suit in 100F weather.  As we were driving, I remarked that it had hit 100F, and Fernando said that he saw some people wearing jeans.  I responded that some people were wearing a dark suit, a joke he appreciated, understanding the aesthetic appeal I saw in it.  As I have said, Fernando has been the perfect tour guide, taking everything in stride, no challenge too great, no plan too ambitious, catering to my every whim, and making sure that my trip went as perfectly as possible.  In addition, he is smart, hard-working, and ambitious.  If he were a woman, he would be my ideal match.  Rand says that we should look for the same thing in our platonic relationships as we do in romantic relationships.

Over the past five days, I have come to consider Fernando a friend.  He is not “my tour guide.”  He is “Fernando.”  He is a rule human being with a girlfriend, a daughter, and ambitions.  He is not just someone I have hired for a week as an employee.  That said, he has made an excellent audience for my stories, and I have pretty much related every travel adventure I’ve had over the past year or so to him.  I know which stories fall flat and which ones bear repeating.  Other than Stuart and my family, I have never spent so much concentrated time with one person, so it is good that we got along so well.  The most we ever spent apart was 30 minutes while he called his girlfriend, and I worked on my Travelogue.  Even with Stuart and my family, we sent more time apart than that.

This trip would not have been the same without Fernado.  I will not explore how the trip might have failed or succeeded with or without him, as that is more properly in the scope of the final entry, but I will say that I could not have played the part of the ignorant tourist.  In Panama, I had to play the part of the shrewd traveler, negotiating when need be, interacting with the authorities, testing the limits of my Spanish, trying to fit in the best I could.  With Fernando, that was not necessary.  I had prepared myself the best I could for whatever I would face, but, in the end, I just played the part of the ignorant tourist, fading into the background, pretending not to understand any Spanish, and just offering money when needed.

A little bit of money goes a long way in these countries, and I was shocked by how far my budget extended.  Other than cigars, I came in under budget, and I will only need to spend money tomorrow on food and a tank of gas.  The cigars will last a long time, so that money will be recouped.  I spent far less on food than I could have expected.  I think that in my 5 days of constant souvenir shopping, I might have spent less than I spent at Stonehenge, certainly less than I spent at Edinburgh and Stonehenge combined.  Yes, I walked away from 4 countries and 8 souvenir shops, spending less than I did at 2 WHS in the UK.  I certainly bought more souvenirs here, as well.  I could have haggled, but the prices were so cheap, I didn’t bother.  I don’t know if all the souvenirs will fit into my suitcase, and I might have to buy a bigger bag, but I think I can make it work.

During my Eurotrip, I knew exactly what I was doing.  When I went to Iran, I fit right in, people talking Farsi to me while I nodded along before walking away.  When I go to Canada, no one knows the difference.  I can be anywhere in the U.S., and people ask me for directions, thinking I’m a local.  In Central America, I now have these two trips to compare.  I can fit in, or I can be the ignorant tourist.  While there is certainly more merit to the former, with a guide as good as Fernando, it is nice to relax sometimes and be the ignorant tourist.  In Japan, I expect that a white face will hardly be out of place, and I will just look like the typical business traveler.  In Alaska, it will just be like the U.S. or Canada.  My birthday trip will be the interesting one.  I will be going to someplace that doesn’t quite speak Spanish, but I will be able to get by on my broken Spanish.  I will be wearing my suit the whole time, but that will not be out of place there.  I won’t quite look like a local, nor will I be the ignorant tourist.  In India, I will probably hire a guide and be the ignorant tourist.  When I go to Antarctica, I will be on a big cruise ship, so we’ll all be ignorant tourists, but in Buenos Aires and Montevido, I will try to fit in.  On my next trips to Central American and the Caribbean, I will not try to avoid seeming the tourist, nor will I pretend to be ignorant.  There is a time and place to be the ignorant tourist, and this trip was the time, CA-4 was the place.  My H. Upmann is almost done, and I want another nap, so I will close on that note.

San Salvador, El Salvador

Just as last night, I should probably slap a new date on this entry, since, when I opened my eyes in the car, it was 12:10 AM, but I think I was awake for 10 minutes before that.  Either way, I am about to sleep for 8 hours, so I’m not going to reset the date yet.  Before I recall the drive, I forgot something that happened in Esteli.  Fernando had given me his extra unit quetzal banknotes.  When I went to pay for the cigars, I had taken out that pack of banknotes.  Among these worthless quetzals, I saw a very large American banknote.  It was clearly one of the two banknotes I had given him when we first met.  Almost immediately, I realized that I couldn’t keep it.  It was Fernando’s, and I was going to tip him at least two more of those banknotes, so was I going to reuse one of the banknotes I had already given him as his tip?  That seemed so ridiculous.  He had earned his tip, and I was under no obligation to give him something, so what was the point then of keeping it only to give it back to him as a tip?  When we got in the car, I took out the quetzals and gave it back to him.

The drive from Esteli to San Salvador was long, boring, and completely unadventurous.  I don’t think we got stopped once.  In fact, other than the borders, the only time we stopped was for a coffee and a snack at a gas station just past the Salvadorian border.  The Nicaragua/Honduras border was quite a hassle, taking us 45 minutes, but the Honduras/El Salvador border was a breeze taking less than 15 minutes and not requiring any paperwork on either side.  I had budgeted a total of an hour for border crossing, so we were good.  It seemed as if, on our way to Nicaragua, each border crossing became more and more difficult.  On the way back, each one got easier.  The roads in Nicaragua and El Salvador were good, but the Honduras road was bumpy and windy.  I asked Fernando to imagine if the whole trip was like that, and he said it would be amazing.  I said that that was not what I meant, and he reminded me of the roads we had taken yesterday.  When we finally crossed into El Salvador, we stopped at the gas station.  I was very hungry, and, because I'm a world traveler on the Atkin’s diet, always seeking his next adventure, I had a very questionable hot dog at a Salvadoran gas station.  It was cold and inedible.  I found a microwave.  Now it was just inedible.  The diet 7UP was good, though.  We got back in the car, and I lit up my H. Upmann as I wrote the previous entry.

I fell asleep and woke up in San Salvador.  We made our way to the hotel, I shoved some souvenirs in my suitcase, carrying the rest.  I will need to repack tomorrow, but I’ll have plenty of time.  In fact, I can sleep in as late as I want, the limiting reactant being that they stop serving breakfast at 10AM, but I’m not setting my alarm.  I was starving when we got to the hotel, so I asked if they had room service?  They did not, but Fernando wanted to go back to his apartment and offered to pick me up something on the way, which turned out to be McDonald’s, two quarter pounders with bacon, cheese, no bread, to be precise.  He had suggested McDonald’s, and I had agreed.  He got back 30 minutes later, and I had already lit up my Avo.  As I scarfed down the burgers, he asked if I wanted to celebrate 4/20 with him.  I turned him down, saying that I would at 4:20 PM tomorrow but that it would just make me hungry again now.  After I ate, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish, finish my cigar, and get some sleep.  Tomorrow, I should say, “CA-4 Complete,” and then embark on The Journey Home.

Trust

4/18/14 (Good Friday)

En route, CA-15, Honduras

“Honduras Complete.”  I was pretty sure that I would have to apply the Darien Exception and bend my definition of success in order to check off the Rio Platano Bioshphere Reserve and say, “Honduras Complete.”  I did not expect to have to bend it so little.  We allowed ourselves to sleep in a little, meaning we didn’t wake up until almost 7AM.  The plan for the day was to have breakfast, head to the legislature building, take a picture, go to a nearby souvenir town, and drive to the end of a dirt road, getting us as close to the Biosphere Reserve as possible.  At that point, I would take a picture of whatever trees were nearby and apply the Darien Exception.  The beginning of the plan worked as exactly as we expected.  Breakfast was what they called the “desayuno tipico,” along with some great coffee.  It was a short walk to the legislature, during which we passed the preparations for the Easter procession and many closed souvenir shops.  Fernando was certain that the souvenir shops would not be opened today, and the lady at the hotel confirmed it.

In every town we visited today, streets were closed to allow for these preparations, which began last night and consisted of intricate images made from colored sand.  I could not wait until Sunday to see how San Salvador celebrated Easter.  I got the picture with at the legislature, and we were soon on our way to Valle de Angeles.  Silently cursing Good Friday for closing all the shops, I lit up a Trinidad.  Valle de Angeles was a charming souvenir town with beautiful mountains in the background.  It was before 9AM, and all the souvenir shops were closed.  I suggested that we stop for one last cup of Honduran coffee while we waited.  I had a “café de la casa,” which was basically an Americano with a thin layer of milk.  I hated it.  I should have just asked for an espresso.  As we sipped our coffee, I explained to Fernando the different coffee regions and the different methods of coffee preparation.  We agreed that Honduras had an amazing natural coffee crop but that the shops did not know how to prepare it correctly.

He also asked for more advice about his idea to sell Central American coffee beans online.  Here was a man who wanted nothing more than to create wealth through his capacity to think.  Well, that, and to get paid to do archaeological research.  I was glad to give him whatever advice I could, and American’s taste in gourmet coffee happens to be one of my areas of expertise.  By the time we were done, the shops had started to open, and I found everything that I needed.  I took over the driving responsibilities, preparing for the worst.  A significant portion of the drive consisted of dirt roads worse than anything I had ever experienced.  It had tremendous amounts of gravel, in addition to potholes and unmarked speed bumps.  I’m sure that I severely damaged the car, but it was fully insured, and I only cared about being able to drop it off at SAL Sunday evening in once piece.  I like to talk about the unusual things you see in different regions that are also universal to those regions.  In Central America, there are no shortage of pickup trucks with large families or groups of friends riding in the back.  The other thing is police checkpoints.  The first three days we had gone without being stopped once before getting to Tikal.  Fernando had remarked how lucky we had been.  Our luck was to change.  We were stopped at the first three checkpoints in Honduras, but it was just a formality.  At the third one, I asked Fernando what the officer had said.  His response was something to the effect of “He asked if we had any guns.  I said that we didn’t.  He asked if we wanted to buy any.”  Fernando was joking, but I had to ask him to make sure.  Our luck did not continue today, and we were stopped more times.

Each time I have to pause, it is because we are getting stopped.  This time, it was more than the regular formality.  They checked my bags and passport, questioning the Arab and Iranian stamps, insisting that I was either Arab or here on a business trip (in re: my suit).  After a short stop, they let us go.  The only other incident was when I went down the checkpoint on the wrong side.  A very small bribe, and we were on our way.  As described, the dirt roads were unimaginably bad, but we soon get back on the pavement.  I found a nice straightaway where I was able to hit that magic 161 before slowing down and driving a more reasonable speed the rest of the ride.  The thing about the GPS is that it estimates, I think, 70 km/h on the highways, which turns out to be a reasonable estimate.  Sure, there are stretches where you can easily go 100 km/h (or 161 km/h if you choose), but there are just as many times when you need to slow down to 40 km/h or below due to potholes, speed bumps, traffic, or just coming into town.  It all evens out in the end, usually even adding time to the trip.  When we got to the last town before the dirt road, it was supposed to be another 55 km on the dirt road to the last town the GPS could find, followed by about another 50 km to the end of the road.  While we had enough gas and water, I did not relish the idea of 200 km on these awful roads.  The first 25 km or so were actually paved, but even 150 km seemed too much for both us and the car to handle, but I lit up an Aging Room and hoped for the best.  I estimated that we needed to turn around by 3PM to make the drive to Managua work out reasonable, and I wanted to back to civilization before dark.  I had thought that there was just one road that left the town (Dulce), but I was wrong.  I struggled a bit to pick the right road, and my GPS, Google Maps, and the paper map all disagreed on what would come next.

Eventually, I realized that we were coming to a turn to the left that would be as close as we could get to the Biosphere Reserve.  I decided we would stop there, take a picture, and turn around.  We got there, and Lo!  There was a sign for Rio Platano Biosphere Reserve.  I wouldn’t have to stretch anything.  That sign, along with a few trees would be enough, but, behold! there was another road that appeared to be leading into the Biosphere Reserve.  Fernando was as excited by the sign as I was.  I lit up my Cohiba, we took some pictures, and I announced, “Honduras Complete,” adding that I would take what I got.  We decided to keep going, seeing where the road would lead us.  We first came to a recreation area with a river where people were bathing and feasting, probably just as they had for hundreds or thousands of years.  We kept going.  We were now clearly in the biosphere.  Yes, we might not have been in the area designated as a protected site, but certainly was the same biosphere with the same natural characteristics.  This was not a road.  This made my loving road in Bosnia look like an Interstate.  It was hiking trail that had been modified to allow the passage of cars.  I asked Fernando if this was a bad road even by Honduran standards, and he admitted that it was.

We came to a turnout where there was a gap in the trees, allowing us an amazing view of the Biosphere Reserve.  Doubting that we would get a better viewpoint, I decided that this would be the stopping point, and we took some amazing pictures.  I started by taking a U to properly christen the site, as I do with all Natural WHS, and I just contemplated the amazing view.  Eventually, I announced that the view wasn’t going to be changing and gave Fernando the keys.  We were well ahead of schedule with an anticipated arrival time of 11PM plus stops.  Wanting to get back to civilization as soon as possible, I said that we should wait until we got back to the paved road before stopping.  Unfortunately, everything was closed, so we had to keep going.  Eventually, we found a restaurant in the “tourist center,” which had the Honduran equivalent of a pool party.  I order a beer, Conch soup, and a mixed grill.  I asked Fernando if I thought that I could smoke?  He said that we could ask, or I could just light it up.  I preferred the latter option, and no one stopped me.

The food took at least 30 minutes to come, probably more, and I was pissed, since it was blowing our chance of arriving at the hotel before midnight.  How long could it take to ladle some soup and grill some meat?  My Imperial beer and Jaime Garcia cigar were almost done.  I decided that I had two options.  I could either stew and ruin my day, or I could realize that I am smoking a cigar in Honduras after having just said “Honduras Complete” on amazing terms.  I chose the latter.  Meanwhile, some guy was making Fernando’s ears bleed.  The conversation was in Spanish, and the music was too loud for me listen in, anyway.  The one possibly somewhat negative thing about Fernando, and, he otherwise makes a perfect guide, is that he is overly friendly and gives out too much information.  I trust his danger sense not to say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and he has steered me right so far, quite literally.  Sure enough, he didn’t give this guy any real information.  The issue with the food was that they had to bring the pot of soup to a full boil to kill any bacteria.  Meanwhile, my mixed grill was cold and overcooked.  In the form of fried plantains, I probably had more carbs than I should have had for the day, but, other than pork rinds, I had not had anything to eat in 10 hours.

I paid the bill, since Fernando did not have enough lempiras.  I’m sure he’ll try to pay me back, but it doesn’t matter to me.  I will be giving him such a generous tip that it completely dwarfs whatever I lay out on meals.  Delayed by over an hour, we got back on the road, and I proceeded to write this entry, which I had to pause twice as we got stopped.  I will now close so that I can take a nap and be refreshed by the time we get to the Nicaragua border crossing.  I will either save the philosophy for the next en route entry or for the Managua entry.

En route, The Pan-American Highway, Nicaragua

“I trust him.”  Those were the words that entered my mind as I put on my eyemask to take nap.  We were back on that dirt road from the morning for 50km.  I had complete trust in Fernando, trust that was not misplaced in the slightest.  There are many kinds of trust, but the two main kinds are trusting someone to be honest with you and trusting in someone’s ability.  I had trust in both for Fernando.  We can further break down the first kind of trust into trust of words and trust of actions.  Trust of words means that you trust someone not to lie to you.  That is the most basic type of trust.  It is the basis of any relationship, business, personal, romantic, anything.  Rand talks about how people often assume that the liar gains a victory over his victim but that is a wrong perception.  In order to lie, you must sacrifice your whole sense of reality to that person, becoming his slave.  Someone who lies to the world becomes a slave of the world.  Similarly, you can trust someone not to steal from you, not to defraud you, even if he does so without saying a single word.  I will call on Rand here again, since she would say that any material gain earned by fraud is worthless, that only a breach in self-esteem would allow you to enjoy the products of someone else’s labor if you did not obtain it by honest means.

These are the simple types of trust.  Each person can choose to be honest in his words and actions, whether or not to earn the trust of his fellow man.  It takes a long time to earn that type of trust, but it can be lost instantly.  The trust in ability is a more complicated animal, and it ties in to respect, which is beyond the scope of this entry.  When I present a proposal to my boss and he is hesitant about, we have a back and forth.  In the end, he makes the final decision, but we hash it out so that he feels he is making the right decision.  Sometimes, he might go with my opinion, even if he is of a different opinion, saying that he trusts me.  When he says that, he is not saying he trusts that I did not lie about the circumstances of the bid.  He is saying that he trusts in my judgment on the bid.  We have worked together long enough that he has a feel of my ability, and he can place trust in it when need be, and that means the world to me.  Judgment is something that is pretty much impossible to learn.  Either you have good judgment, or you don’t.  It might also be called instinct, but I think that that is slightly different.  When I told myself that I trusted Fernando, I trusted him to drive safely, to make the proper judgments on the road condition.  Earlier, he had asked me how fast to drive, and I told him as fast as he felt comfortable, knowing that, if he felt comfortable, so would I.  For a great deal of this trip, I have trusted in his judgment, the value of that alone exceeding his fee for the week.  There are very few people in the world whose judgment I will trust on face value.  My boss is one of them, my father another, as well as my own.  In the context of this trip, Fernando has my absolute trust in his judgment.

The final type of trust is trust in someone’s ability.  When I said that I trusted Fernando, I also meant that I trusted his ability to handle the tough roads, to use and follow the GPS, and to get me to highway in one piece.  Every person has their own abilities, areas where they are stronger and weaker.  One of my co-workers might be better talking to people on the phone, while another might be better at organizing a new file system.  Management needs to know whom they can trust the most to do what, where the ability is and where it may lack.  They need to know where they can place their trust.

I just asked Fernando if he wanted to switch with me, and I need to know that he will not drive himself to the point of being dangerously exhausted.  I trust him to tell me when he’s ready to switch, and I trust him to be able to drive effectively until that point.  Those are two different types of trust, but they are both equally important.  Right now, all that matters is getting to our hotel safely.  It is the biggest obstacle that remains between me and CA-4 Complete.  Nothing else matters at this point.  I have come in under budget on this trip, and tomorrow will be a pretty easy day.  The two WHS are right by Managua, so picking them up should be pretty easy.  Then, once we get to San Salvador, I have a full day to take my picture with the legislature and explore Fernando’s city as he sees fit.  I love it when a plan comes together, and it certainly looks like this plan is coming together.  I will not yet recount the adventures that brought me from the time I closed on CA-15 to the time we got on The Pan-American Highway, as I want to wait until we get to Managua so that I can properly treat it in the context of the entire drive.  Since Fernando might soon call me to drive, I will now close until Managua and maybe work on some proposals.

Managua, Nicaragua

I probably should tag a new dateline on this, since I think I fell asleep at some point during the ride after midnight, but I’d rather treat it as one entry.  It turned out that getting to the Biosphere Reserve was the easy part of the trip.  It was getting to my hotel room in Nicaragua that was hard.  We were running low on gas, and we couldn’t find an opened gas station.  I told Fernando to wake me when we were either at a gas station or got to the next town.  Next thing I knew, we came to stop, and he said, “We made it.”  We were in a gas station and on empty.  After gassing up and using the rest of my lempiras, or at least most of the rest, we geared ourselves up to head to Nicaragua.  The border was close, and I was afraid that it might be closed at that late hour.  We then came to a bunch of cones with chains.  Our worst fears had been realized.  The border appeared to be closed, but there were people waiting around inside the crossing.  Fernando honked, and eventually someone came to move the chains.  It took us an hour from that point until we had passed the chains on the other side of the border, having to stop at 6 different places, almost each of which required a small fee to be paid.

First we had to through Honduras Customs, followed by Honduras migration, but no one was there.  We knocked and knocked, and finally someone came out wearing a towel.  I joked that he probably just came from the shower.  Next, we had to get our car fumigated, and then we had to pay for the privilege of them spraying our car, inside and out, with noxious gas.  After that, it was the Nicarguans turn.  First we had to go through their immigration procedure, a mere formality and a fee.  Next, we had to get a permit to bring the vehicle across the border.  Since Fernando was Honduran, and the car was rented in El Salvador, they said we couldn’t do it, but one flash of my American passport, and they were willing to make an exception.  It looked like we were good to go.  We took a picture at the “Bienvendidos a Nicaragua” sign, but they wouldn’t let us through.  We had to show the permit to a police officer, and he needed a copy along with one of the license and registration, but he couldn’t make a copy.  He suggested we try the fumigation station.  Otherwise, we would have to go all the back to Honduras and look around for a place to make copies at 11PM on Good Friday.  Fortunately, the fumigation station had a copy machine, and we were finally on our way, now looking at a 2AM arrival time at the hotel, being delayed an hour while they boiled my soup at the restaurant and another hour here at the border.  Maybe I should start calling it Honduran Time instead of Dutch Time.

I immediately lit up my last Davidoff Nicaraguan Toro.  Sure enough, we were stopped at the first checkpoint, and they actually went through my souvenirs.  Once we got on The Pan-American Highway, I wrote the previous entry, which took me up until midnight.  It was now too late to take a nap without having to use a new dateline, though it is not impossible that I drifted off.  We stopped for coffees, which I gladly bought, and it was really good coffee.  Refreshed, we were on our way.  When we got into Managua, we were stopped again, and he gave us the third degree.  He wanted to write Fernando a ticket for a lane violation, and, after a while, I started to worry.  It was taking too long.  He should have come back to me by that point, saying how much he needed to “fix it.”  He did, and I handed over the nominal fee.  We were on our way and managed to find the hotel easily enough.  It was completely dark.  While Fernando tried to find someone, I tried calling the hotel, but the numbers did not work.  I also saw something that made my heart stop.  It was an 18-room boutique hotel, which meant it was very unlikely to be staffed 24/7.

I looked around for another hotel, but he came back, saying he found someone.  The whole point in staying in a capital city is that you get a great view from your hotel room.  This hotel room was an interior room and had no windows.  It was a non-smoking room, but I didn’t care at that point.  After settling in, I lit up an Avo and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close and publish so that I can get a little bit of sleep before we attempt to say “Nicaragua Complete.”  Tomorrow night should, after two border crossings, bring us back to San Salvador.  At that point, it will just be a legislative building that stands between me and CA-4 Complete.

Valuations (Or: What is a WHS Visit Worth?)

4/17/14

En route, CA-4, Honduras

With all of our activities for the day completed and only a long and arduous ride to the hotel remaining, now seems a perfect time to begin my entry.  I often say that I never lie in this Travelogue, but that does not mean I cannot make a mistake.  Last night, in effort to pigeon-hole a certain philosophical statement on racism, I overlooked the beauty of many of the locals here, and there have been plenty.  To say that I was not attracted to them would be inaccurate.  What I meant was that I could never see myself with any of them.  Just as I could never be with an idiot, but I could still admit that she was attractive as long as she kept her mouth shut, so, too do I find many of these locals attractive.  The theme of tonight’s entry will be value, and I will explore it from a more material aspect.  I have said with absolute certainty that the definition of success for this trip will be saying “CA-4 Complete” (and making my return flight), and I have constantly emphasized the importance of achieving that goal, what it will mean for me for the next 4 years and for my 17 goals.  There is no way to change that definition of success, no saying 7 out of 8 WHS is enough.  However, where there is a little leeway is how I define visiting the WHS.  One might think that in order to check a WHS off my list, I must set foot within the area inscribed my UNESCO, but, about 6 months ago, I consciously created an exception, the Darien Exception.  It only applies to sites not reachable by road, and I am not yet willing to apply it to U.S. and Canadian WHS, which have their own rules on what is necessary to check them off.  In short, it states that, if I am unable to do the WHS as a day trip from the nearest major city, and I can find a way to get close to the WHS and allow myself to get a sense of the WHS, I can count it.  It is an absolute last resort and one that I am always hesitant to apply, but if I need to do so for reasons of security or because I am prevented through external forces, I will.  It is not a “I hit traffic and arrived too late” kind of exception.  It has to be been anticipated in advance, and the alternate has to be considered and evaluated before leaving for the destination.  I want to reapply this precedent so that being unable to set foot on Midway Atoll does not prevent me from saying “U.S. Complete.”  The reason I bring this up will become apparent later in the entry, but I have gotten off-topic.

I have a master spreadsheet that, among other things, estimates the cost and value of each trip I intend to take over the next 4 years.  It is easy enough to estimate the cost of every aspect of each trip.  The complication comes when I want to provide value to the trip.  I can ignore the cost/value analysis of cigars and souvenirs, since I make a rational decision on that with each purchase.  However, it is the other items that are more complicated.  How do I measure the cost of airfare against the value from seeing a new country, a new WHS?  I have come up with arbitrary values to assign to each aspect of a trip, but clearly one WHS is not as valuable as another.  Further, the value of saying “30 Goals Complete” is precisely the entirety of my discretionary income over the next 3 years and 5 months, less my tobacco budget.  Do I reallocate that value into the value of visiting each of the 100 North American WHS, the 26 Olympic Stadiums sites, the 23 North American countries, etc.?

The enjoyment value I receive from a typical WHS would not come close to the allocation from that type of valuation, but the fulfillment value might, especially when viewed as part of a larger goal, but visiting 99 North American WHS is not 99% as valuable to me as visiting all 100 of them, it is not even half as valuable, maybe not even 10% as valuable.  Does that mean that I should allocated 90% of that valuation budget into Hawaii Volcanoes NP?  I think that something to that effect would be advisable, and I have assigned an inordinate value to the trips that allow me to say “Canada Complete” and “U.S. Complete.”  Before I get into a detailed internal discourse of the economics of my travel goals, which are completely irrelevant.  If some magical genie told me that I would not be able to achieve my 30 Goals, I would completely restructure my travel plans, assigning completely different values to each potential trip, valuing a week in Mongolia far beyond a week in Nepal in an attempt to see Everest, 4 days in Paris or Vienna beyond a 4-day trek to a totem pole that would put me one step closer to Canada Complete.

Each trip has its own enjoyment value and then a fulfillment value in terms of the larger goals it serves.  I suppose that there is an independent fulfillment value to some trips, especially as was the case with saying “Bosnia and Herzegovina Complete,” but that is dwarfed by the value provided in serving one of my 30 Goals.  Once I turn 30, I will have a much less ambitious set of 40 Goals, and I intend to spend at least half of my vacations on trips of enjoyment, rather than purely chasing after fulfillment and letting the enjoyment only be a side effect.  People often think I’m crazy for spending so much time and money on what is basically a photo op, but I don’t care.  Often times I go somewhere that has an admission fee, a fee I am gladly willing to pay to check the site off my list, even if it only means spending 5 minutes inside to take a picture and move on.   As I’m leaving, I might get a comment or a look that questions why I spent the admission fee on such a short time at the site.  The answer is twofold.  First, I only had that much time, and subsequent time would not have provided me with further value.  Second, I paid the fee because it was insignificant compared to the fulfillment value of checking the site off my list.  More likely than not, I received more fulfillment value from the site than the value received by anyone else there.

I have often thought to myself that the vast majority of the value of a site comes in the first second you lay your eyes on, and most of the rest of the rest in the next 59 seconds.  It could be that the first second provides 60% of the value, the first minute 90%, and the first hour 99%.  Anyone who has ever seen the Grand Canyon or any famous landmark will know what I mean.  “Wouldn’t you enjoy it more if you spent more time there?” people often ask.  Yes, I would, but the fulfillment value of the extra site completely dwarfs the extra enjoyment value I would get from spending more time at one site.  Fernando understands this.  He gets my “Let’s take a picture and move on” mentality.  Other than the first two sites on the first day, I have made sure that the time we spent was the time it took me to smoke my Cuban.  Once the cigar was done, I no longer had any more interest in staying there.  The timing worked out perfectly, and, other than Tikal, where I decided I would get more value from writing my entry than from spending another 20 minutes walking around, I have felt that I got to fully see each site we visited.  I have also thoroughly enjoyed exploring each of the Mayan ruins.

On that note, I will continue to the more traditional part of the Travelogue, how we spent our day exploring Mayan ruins.  As I was getting ready to go this morning (or maybe last night), I realized that my box of Cohibas was not in my cigar bag.  Had it fallen out during the bumpy shuttle ride?  I didn’t think so.  There was not enough of a gap.  As we made our way to the car, getting coffee in the lobby, which was surprisingly not empty at 5AM, I checked the shuttle bus, but there was nothing there.  When we got to the car, I immediately checked the floor of the back seat.  Ah, there was a box that had to be it.  Oh, no, wait, that’s the gallon of water.  In a panic, I felt around, and I felt it underneath the driver’s seat.  The cigars were getting dry, and I had put a moisture pack in, but I didn’t know how long it would take to start working.  I chose one to smoke at the WHS later.  I said that I would drive until we got to the first WHS, which would be about 5 hours, leaving about 8 hours for Fernando to do.

Around 7AM, after I finished my Carillo, I decided that we could stop for breakfast, and we stopped at a small town.  I had seen a restaurant where it looked like they were butchering a cow in the driveway.  I asked Fernando if that was typical, and he was just as shocked as I was.  We tried in vain to find gas for my lighter before circling back to the restaurant where we parked.  I got some crisp-fried chicken, along with scrambled eggs and coffee.  It was Nestle instant coffee, but I think it was from Central American beans, and it was really good, as was the rest of the meal.  I commented to Fernando how surprised I was by how cheap food was here, less than half of what I might pay in New York.  He replied that they were ripping us off because we were foreigners and that it should have been less than half of what we were paying.  As we were eating, some police joined us, which made me feel slightly uncomfortable, but Fernando greeted them and they returned his friendly greeting.  We went to take a U, and I saw some chickens in the back.  I asked him one of them was my breakfast, and he said, “For sure.”

I lit up a Davidoff, and I soon found myself hungry again, but I could not bring myself to have lunch or a second breakfast at 8AM.  I had some of my pork rinds to tide me over before lighting my Arturo Fuente Gran Reserva.  Actually, I might be getting this order mixed up.  Either way, I found myself absolutely starving sometime after breakfast and before a reasonable lunch time, and I was on my third cigar of the day at 8:30 AM.  As were approaching our destination, I saw a very large gas station.  We were down to a quarter tank of gas, and I had a feeling that they might have gas for my lighter there.  I was right.  Before long, we were at Quirigua, our first WHS of the day.  I had a little trouble parking, but there were plenty of souvenir shops right there.  I had a good feeling about it.  I will now pause since we are about to switch roads, which will necessitate a new headers, and I want to check my email.

En route, CA-5, Honduras

By the time we got to Quirigua, Fernando had learned my WHS drill: picture with the plaque, light a Cuban, find the nomination photo, recreate it, walk around some more, take some more pictures, get some souvenirs, and get out of there.  Something that has often been suggested to me by certain tour guides that bothers me to no end is that if I don’t buy the souvenirs right at the site, it would be much cheaper.  Ignoring the fact that the small amount I might save is not worth the lost time for stopping at somewhere else, they miss the point of why I want the souvenirs.  Each souvenir I buy represents someone place I went, the adventure that took my there, all the difficulties along the way, and my enjoyment of the site.  For those very reasons, the closer that the souvenir is purchased to the site, the more valuable it is.  Buying a replica after I saw the original also makes it more valuable.  The cost of the souvenirs is a tiny proportion of the overall cost of any trip, yet, other than photos, they are most visible, longest lasting memory of the trip for me.  To me, they are one of the most valuable parts of the trip, so, if, instead of spending, say, 10% of my budget on souvenirs, I want to spend 20%, I will because I know that doing the souvenirs up right makes them more than twice as valuable to me.

The whole point of this value debate is that valuations don’t have to make sense to anyone else.  It just has to make sense to me, and I just need to rationally act on whatever valuations I set, just as there can be rational debate on more traditional values, so long as you rationally follow the values you set for yourself.  We took my picture with the plaque and moved on to the main plaza.  The first thing I wanted to find was the carving from the nomination file, and we quickly did.  I lit up my Cohiba and announced, “Guatemala Complete,” and that it had been quite a rocky road.  My original plan had the Completes lined up in an uneven way.  We have since revised the plan, which will, if everything goes according to plan, allow me to do a Complete every day.  I like it much better that way.  Tomorrow is the biggest variable in the whole plan, and the whole day will be set out to saying “Honduras Complete,” which means finding a way that I can consider myself having visited the Rio Platano Biosphere Reserve, most likely without actually visiting the Rio Platano Biosphere Reserve.  There is a National Park that is part of the same biosphere, so our quest will be to go to that park instead, doing the legislature and souvenirs in the morning, on the way out.  The very success or failure of the trip will depend upon how we do that.  From that point on, to make my return flight would be to say “CA-4 Complete.”

Having lit up my cigar, we walked around the site, taking lots of pictures and marveling at the stelae, giant stone monuments honoring the different Mayan kings.  We made our way to the acropolis, Fernando considering it from an archaeological standpoint, me from an engineering one.  I would like to say how wonderful it was, but all the Mayan ruins were starting to look the same, and the magic of seeing these ruins was fading.  I was also exhausted and spent from walking around in the 90F heat wearing my suit.  I had trouble finding the perfect souvenirs, and I found something that I really wanted, but it was much larger than I wanted (while the t-shirts were too small), so I opted for a smaller version, which was actually a paper and pen holder, not a true replica.  I gave Fernando the keys, and we made our way to Copan, which would be our first site in Honduras.  I fell asleep and woke up with a sign that said “Bienvenidos a Honduras” in front of me.  We were at the border.  We first needed to exit Guatemala, which was a bit of an issue since I did have a proper entrance visa.  I just had to pay a nominal fee to sort it out.

We took the picture at the border and then went to the Honduras entrance station.  After waiting for a large tour group to go through and paying another nominal fee, and trying in vain to find out the information we needed about Rio Platano, we were on our way.  Starving, we decided to stop in the town of Copan first before proceeding to the ruins, despite being on a bit of a potential time crunch.  I had asked Fernando last night what the national food and beer was of Honduras.  The food was something called baleadas, and his favorite beer was Port Real.  He told me that there was a great place in Copan to get baleadas, but we found that it no longer existed.  We did, however, find out where else we could get them.  We sat down and ordered.  Knowing that the inside of a tortilla would not be enough food, I also got some grilled meat to go with it.

Not having any Honduras money, we searched out an ATM.  My card would not work at the first one.  That was new.  I am used to having my debit card rejected at stores in a foreign country, but not at an ATM.  I really did not want to have to deal with calling Citibank again.  We found an ATM, one with a familiar name, and I was soon in possession of a pocket full of lempiras.  We made our way back to the restaurant, and the food soon came.  I had a few bites of the baleadas as is, before opening it up to eat with the meat.  It was really good.  We stopped next door for coffee.  I absolutely hate café Americano.  I think it is the worst beverage ever invented.  Either make proper drip coffee or just give me the espresso straight.  This particular cup was too hot and burned my tongue.  I threw it out.

We then made our way to the ruins of Copan.  I stopped at the souvenir shop inside the VC to get a t-shirt and a Honduran flag pin as a just in case, but I knew that I would want to get the real souvenirs properly.  The first stop was the museum where they preserved some of the more sensitive artifacts, including the head that was used in the nomination photo.  Fernando explained that I could touch the artifact, a priceless Mayan statue, since there were no rules there.  Taking his cue, I took out my Partagas and put it in the statue’s mouth.  Further testing the rules, I lit up the cigar in the museum, took a few more puffs, put the lit cigar inside the statue’s mouth.  We made our way to the archaeological site, which was just like all the others.  The attraction here was a Mayan ball court, which was very interesting to see.  It was something different from the others.  I will now have to pause as we gas up.

We hiked up to the top of a pyramid, the highest point in the complex, which afforded a great view of the site.  Along the way, Fernando found a little piece of pottery.  I envied his find and hoped he would offer it to me.  Instead, he just tossed it aside.  I asked him why he didn’t keep it.  He had thrown it into a pile of leaves, and he scrambled, unsuccessfully to try and find it for me.  As we were walking around the top of the pyramid, we found quite by chance the original site of the carving of the old guy, which was replaced by a replica, but it was the perfect photo opportunity, something that gave meaning to the site to me.  Compared to the wishy washy way we will be doing tomorrow’s site, it was a welcome relief to go 5 for 5 the first three days on getting the nomination photo.  We took some more photos, and I ditched the cigar on the way back.

It was time for souvenirs.  There was a little stand staffed by a not unattractive girl with a clear bit of Mayan (or otherwise indigenous) blood in her.  I picked out two decent-sized replicas, and she quoted me a price that seemed reasonable enough in dollars.  She was asking for it in lempiras.  The exchange rate is 22-to-1.  I sensed that this would be a good place to get souvenirs for people back home.  The whole thing, the replicas, plenty of souvenirs for myself, 4 nice bracelets for the ladies in the office, and 7 cheap keychains for my friends, cost about the same as I would expect to pay for a t-shirt in London or Vienna.  I stopped to get some more water, and that was that.  We made our way back to town, got some coffee in town, struggled to get out of town, and were on our way to Tegucigalpa, during which drive I proceeded to write this entry.  Since I believe it will best to recount the entire drive in its whole upon reaching Tegucigalpa, along with a couple of things I forgot from the morning’s drive, I will now close.

Tegucigalpa, Honduras

We arrived at our hotel’s parking lot almost an hour and a half ago, yet I am only know sitting down to write this entry.  It’s funny how things take so much longer when you’re not rushing.  After I closed, we stopped for dinner at a buffet, where I was able to get, among other things, chicharones, which has to be the best food in the history of mankind.  It’s even better than buttered bacon, which is saying a lot.  It is deep-fried pork skins.  How can it get better than that?  I suppose I need to start with this morning.  I have never officially added “drive 100 mph” to the definition of a Complete, but it sure is nice when it happens.  The “highway” taking use from our hotel to Quirigua was a very shitty road.  There were no cops and very few other cars.  The only thing stopping me from flooring it was the road itself, a huge collection of curves, speed bumps, and potholes.  Twice, I got to 150 km/h before having to slow down.  Then, there it was, a slight downgrade along a straightaway.  161 km/h, the magic number.  I slowed down, turned to Fernando, and told him that he was in a car that just went 100 mph, a first for him.  It was during this process, when I had already slowed down to a manageable speed, that I missed a speed bump, taking it at well over 40 mph.  The car was not happy.  We also talked more about philosophy, and his knowledge of different philosophers left me pleasantly surprised, and American TV shows.  He asked if we really had unisex bathrooms here, and I told him that he watched too much Ally McBeal.  That was how we passed most of the drive to Quirigua.

The drive to Tegucigalpa was almost entirely unadventurous.  The first road was bumpy and filled with potholes, so a nap was impossible.  I was too exhausted to enjoy a cigar, so I instead tried to plan our adventure for tomorrow, coming up empty, that even my Plan B might not be working.  By the time we stopped for dinner, I was pretty confident in Plan C.  Once we got on CA-4, I proceeded to write my entry, and I had asked him if we were on that road yet, but he explained that people here do not use highway numbers to give directions, that it is meaningless to them.  I contrasted that to how everyone in the U.S. uses Interstate numbers to give directions.  I’m not sure which one of us found the other convention more surprising.  After dinner, I had to decide between a cigar and attempting a nap.  The nap won out, and, when I came to, Fernando pointed out the lights of Tegucigalpa in the distance.

I had said that we would be lucky to arrive before midnight.  We had made great time and, even stopping for food and gas, got to the hotel at 11:30 AM.  We had to honk to get the security guard to let us in, and the hotel looked kind of dingy.  The guy checked us in, and we went to our room.  I put my key in the door, opened it up, and was greeted by a friendly, elderly Japanese man.  Reader, take a moment and consider what just happened.  I used my room key, and there was already someone in the room.  He had put us in a room that was already booked, already occupied.  I went back down, and we got a new room on the 4^th Floor.  We went into the elevator, which only went up to 3.  There was another elevator.  I commented to Fernando that this supposed to be the best hotel in Tegucigalpa, and he responded, “Welcome to Teguc.”  I shot back that maybe this was the best hotel in the city, and he didn’t object.  After settling in and uploading my photos, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get some sleep before attempting to say “Honduras Complete” tomorrow.