Unionized mosquito swarms

Although the flowering vegetation and the fauna-rich area I was surprised to not being bothered by a single mosquito that night. A welcomed change, to see that they have strict working periods here. I had been unbelievably lying in my tent for several minutes with my head lamp trying to find insects. There were none. The other side of the coin showed its terrible face at 5:45. Start of work. All mosquitoes to the time clock. So whilst I was deconstructing the tent I had mosquitoes all over me like bees sticking on their honeycomb.

But I made my first goal for the day. To wake up early. Since my possible lift was about to leave at some time. I waited at the army office for somebody from the boat to drop by. And the young guy from the day before with whom I had a nice chat came over. Today a little grumpy. I greeted nicely and sticked to his heels on the way to the boat. The whole crew was already working. They unloaded masses of booze for the duty free shop and lowered washing machines, fridges, freezers and other electronic stuff from the roof. Several of the packages had a rough landing. The whole process, including also 800 packages of water bottles and 250 units of 24 packs of coke, took several hours.

At some point I turned around to join the group of younger people to have some chit chat. The guy from the day before was with them and I realized that he wasn’t even part of the crew. And also, he was rather grumpy. “Do you have a lighter? It might take some time there.” “Where would you go?” “Puerto Obaldia, with the cargo ship.” “Not possible. No passengers allowed. You have to take a Lancha. My friend can drive you.” What a bold lie. Very bold since the same guy who had told me the day before that it wouldn’t be a problem to go with the boat now said “No puede (Not possible).” And even more cheeky since the military and the captain had already given their ok. Damn bloodsuckers!

All for the crew, all for the club

Since there was nothing else to do, I, at some point, joined the human feeder band and helped them for the next hours to unload the ship. The captain was amazed. He also was a nice comrade. Laughing all the time. A latino by the book, originally from Panama, always keeping his cool. Not even ruffled by the dropping gas refrigerators. A well trimmed schnauzer, short-trimmed hair and jug ears. A combination of Ernie from the Sesame Street and Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. A mediocre loud, authentic laughter that made you laugh as well and always up for a joke. But also he spoke fast and mumbling. I didn’t understand a word of his. Pity. Still, I liked him.

At noon we started towards Puerto Obaldia. 20 minutes of sailing and an immigration stamp were waiting for me. I even got lunch for my working aid. So friendly. Ready to enter the new country. My backpack was completely ripped apart by the next friendly commander. Immigration was closed and I had to wait 30 minutes. That really pissed me off since I had hoped to continue with the cargo ship. With my passport stamped I headed back for the ship as fast as possible.

A lift to Panama!

Let’s make it short. After some hassle and back and forth with the army and the captain, my name made it to the crew memberlist and I had my ride to the next road, passing the Darien Gap. Just as easy as that. Passage completed. From then on I was a worker on a cargo ship and it was a welcomed change from normal hitchhiking. The whole journey took us about a week. Together with Ernie L. Jackson and a crew consisting mostly of Kuna people, the indigenous people from the San Blas Islands.

The first night we stopped at one of these islands. After we had roped up the ship I went for an excursion to the island. It wasn’t much bigger than three football courts but from one edge to the other full with huts. It was the first real culture shock I remember. Not a single house made of stone, all the huts were traditionally covered with thatched roofs or Bamboo (I think). I strided through the streets and felt like in an ancient viking settlement.

In the big main building there was a ceremony going on. I joined them. In the middle two men sat in hammocks singing traditional Kuna songs. Sounded like indian Chantis. Very relaxing. As I made two pictures several people approached me taking me outside forcing me to delete the pictures from the camera. It was not allowed. I apologized. Still I wanted to restore them later with a special program (didn’t work though). After the surprisingly interesting walk I went back to the ship finding the whole crew drinking. Last evening. Next day we would be at the main Kuna island where the bigger part of the crew would be staying for two nights with their families.

The entertaining of an alcoholized crew

Kuna people can’t drink much. Was my feeling. Especially the older ones were drunk very fast. As I was already in bed, “fun” started. The second captain, a tall, disgusting person that could easily have made it to the Hells Angels, was quarreling with our chef, Pablo. I really like Pablo since he took really good care of me. With his head he nearly reached my belly button, he had a fluffy beard making him look like a Catfish and he was always equipped with a basecap of some Panamanian Schlager star. They were cursing at each other. I had no Idea why but the second captain always asked: “Dormiste, dormiste?”, “Did you sleep? Did you sleep?”. At some I could hear a smack when this bastard hit the poor, outgunned Pablo. The next day Pablo had a black eye.

Second act: I tried to sleep but above me, in his hammock, there was swinging “the snorer”. But it wasn’t really a snoring, rather a snotting. Snoring gets familiar as soon as you tap into the rhythm of the snorer. Not with the snotting. Isolated slime chunks that are – often but irregularly – pushed back and forth from the inhaled air inside the throat. And on the top of that: respiratory blackouts. Sometimes I thought he had died. Then I relaxed for a moment because I thought the snotting was over. Every time it continued with an even louder rattling inhale. Like Chinese water torture. You never know when the next drop will hit. The movie of the drunk crew continued. At some point two of the younger ones brought the old, fragile ship mechanic carrying him to his hammock at the end of the ship. I had seen before that he was totally drunk. Looks like he wasn’t even able to walk. At some point I left the hammock beneath the snotting guy and took over the hammock directly beneath the old mechanic.

At some point I opened my eyes. What was going on? Mr Mechanic was poking, clumsy as the old and tattering man he was, with his hand through the darkness. As if he wanted to reach a far distant object. He wanted to get out of his hammock but was extremely drunk and in general a little senile. I watched him for some time, in my head saying “You can do it, come on oldie!”, waiting for him to make some progress.
In the end I got up to help him out. In that moment he dropped out of the hammock like a newborn calf. I helped him to get up, he was shaking. Taking his hand I led him to a nearby barrel that he grabbed, stabilizing himself starting to urinating directly on board. As he was done he fumbled his way back to the hammock that I was already holding in preparation because I really didn’t want to pull him out of his own piss the next second. Skillful, the same way he had fallen out of the hammock, he fell back in and asleep.

About gas bottles and Kuna woman

The next day we stopped at the main Kuna island where we would be staying for the upcoming three days before we would go north. The daily routine on the ship was pretty exciting. We stopped at uncountable amount of small islands, loaded and unloaded fridges, boats, groceries, air conditioners and loads of gas bottles. Many gas bottles, sometimes over a hundred per island. Also, a young Kuna joined us because he needed a lift to Carti. It was also my own goal since there the first road was starting. So we went for several days from one island to another selling gas at Kunas.

It was so interesting for me, I really enjoy experiences like that way more than looking at some tourist attraction. Here there is business. Here is life. Buying, selling. Exciting harbourlife. Joking, haggling. Discovering how people challenge their everyday routine. When I am watching my crew members, how they deal with their relatives.

Especially the Kuna women were very fascinating for me. They are dressed in a short skirt and a colorful blouse, headscarf, nose piercing and some kind of curly leg warmers. They seemed very proud to me. They were the ones that were doing the business whilst the men were hanging around. I have no idea about the Kuna culture and am too lazy to read up on them, but that proudness and self confidence appeared very sexy to me.

At the end we arrived to Carti. The friendly captain and several others including me went off the ship. A Lancha was prepared that would bring us 3km to the coast, where the street was beginning. I had crossed the Darien Gap. The whole northern American continent in front of me. Ready to be explored. This was probably the second most difficult and second most important passage of my journey. Done! I can tick that. I was relieved and happy.

I started walking immediately. Several thousand kilometers of hitchhiking in front and in the back of me. I have to get to Guatemala and continue to Mexico from there.

Der Beitrag Hitchhiking with a Cargo boat to Panama erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

Finally back on a good old speed boat

After one hour the “boarding” started. The crowd became even denser. I aquired a big black plastic bag for my backpack for 1000 Pesos (around 30 Cent) in which I put my backpack. I entered the boarding zone as my name was called. As I was packing my stuff a friendly worker approached me. Took my backpack, weighed it and demanded 10.000 Pesos. I asked them, why? Well, it’s more than 10 kg. I was already on the boat. My Colombian seatmates signified that there was no such thing like overweight luggage. “No hay plata! No hay plata!” (No money!). I was close to grabbing my purse but stopped inconspicuously. My backpack was already loaded (at least I hoped so) and so I just ignored their demand for more money. It worked. Escaped the tourist trap properly. Damn scammers everywhere… really.

The boat was in a similar state as the one I rode from Trinidad to Venezuela. Just with better equipment. The benches were equipped with cushions and a seat back and it had three outboard engines that were real monsters. Still, the ride was as uncomfortable as the last time. An ongoing up and down through the waves. The one noticeable difference was, that the Colombians celebrated every splash, every hard bounce with cheering, laughing and applause. These people were going on holiday. The Venezuelans had been going home.

When I arrived in Carpugana I was in the middle of the Darien Gap. There were three more villages further from here: Sapzurro, La Miel and finally Puerto Obaldia. Between Sabruzzo and La Miel is the official border of Panama and Colombia. The immigration though was at Carpugana (Colombia) and Puerto Obaldia (Panama), meaning that I had to check out here before I could continue. Of course I had forgotten that. Very determined I went from the boat to the very first shop, packed myself with water, had a Sprite and started walking towards the jungle path. Somewhere already in the jungle I remembered about the stamp and had to walk all back to the immigration office again. But then I finally started.

Walking the Darien Gap

So I was heading to Puerto Obaldia on foot. I knew it would be around 2-3 hours between the first and the second village, and another 30 minutes crossing the border to La Miel (first village in Panama) and further from there some more hours to Porto Obaldia, although that last part I was the least sure about. Anyway, I wanted to do that the day after. That’s why i just started. The path was well made, there were even signs, but it was muddy. After a while I found myself to be in the deepest jungle. Jungle, incredibly moist and uphill. I was till wearing long trousers that were completely wet before I had even done the first half of the hill. Jungle is just the same as a vast Bio-Sauna. This short hike took a lot out of me.

The sign at the village boundary said 30 minutes. You have to cross a mountain. From the top of it, it was only 40 minutes to the next village. Okay. Someone wasn’t sure about the distance. It took me an hour to get there. As I arrived I had to take a bath in the ocean, get rid of my t-shirt and switch to short trousers. That made the situation more bearable. I had a fish for lunch and continued to La Miel. Further to Panama. It was a rather unexciting path. A lot of exhausting steps upwards and a lot of exhausting steps down again. A short conversation with one of the three military outposts, reassurance that I will come back (what I did definitely not had in mind) and then I was in Panama, Juchee!

And oh, how beautiful Panama is!

Well, it was ok. La Miel wasn’t the pearl that I expected and every step was controlled by the military. My question for the path to Puerto Obaldia was answered briefly with “No hay, no hay” (There is no path). But of course it was there. 2 hours on foot I was told by a local. Meaning 4-5 hours for me. I also understood that the military doesn’t want to see me in the jungle.

There comes a boat, oho!

I checked out the area. There was a duty free shop in La Miel where you could get primarily cheap whiskey. As I was just heading for the next beach to set up my tent I spotted a cargo ship. Should I try to hitchhike it or rather enjoy the paradise around? Of course I had to hitchhike! If there is a chance to get a ride I will not let it fly away.

It was a rusty, small cargo ship with around 10 crew members on board. I asked for the captain. A jung man showed me the guy. Where they were heading? To Colon. Oh my god! Colon. It was about double of the distance that I had to make to get to the next road. If I could join them? The captain was speaking very fast. I didn’t understand a word. Just that we would talk about it the next morning and that I need the approval of the military. Nothing more easy than that. I talked a little to my young contact and he assured me, that the captain would take me to the immigration in the next village.

So I had a talk with the secretary at the military office. No problems there. They wanted to see the departure stamp, sure, if I had 500$? 500… what? Nope. No money. I will not pay here. Oh, I need it for the immigration. In cash? Of course I didn’t have the money and who would be as stupid as to carry 500$ around?

Military dialogues

That’s how all the fun started. Since soldiers are not allowed to think he had to ask the commander. And of course that did not match the rules so I wasn’t allowed to leave the country. But I have the money, but not in cash. I just need internet to check that. No, not possible. No money, no continuing of the journey. I have to walk back to Colombia to get the cash from the ATM. That was some dilemma since the lift was already here. And the worst thing you can do to me is to sabotage my lift. So I didn’t accept without struggling.

Friends had told me that the commander was a cool person and just his soldiers were rather stupid and incompetent. So I just walked into the commander tent, found him sitting on his hammock and explained my situation. He showed understanding but was like “You can go there, but not from here”. A little naive I asked if it was possible then? He mumbled … yes. That must have been the unofficial sign that we are breaking the rules now. I went back to his soldiers and told them confidently and triumphantly that I was allowed to go. The commander came and confirmed and there was my official exit permit.

Next step was talking to the captain. He seemed to be fine with it and just mentioned tomorrow morning, tomorrow morning. A clear sign that it is not as safe as it seems. But what could I do? Anyway I was allowed/had to sleep next to the commander office.

Where is Walter?

Before hitting the bed I made an excursion to the opposite beach. La Miel has two beaches. One with the duty free and one full of garbage. And two houses. On of it was Jimmy’s, an American. The other one was Walter, a Colombian who wants to create something there. Jimmy wasn’t around (I expected that since two acquaintances had been living there some weeks before) but Walter was.

I have to give you lovely regards from Walter, I promised to mentioned this here. Walter lives there on the beach with two cats, a dog and a self-dug fishing pond with 13 islands, each populated by 1-3 palms. Looks like a small swamp. He had dug that monstrous pit all alone with a shovel. Also there was a horse and various unfinished projects.

So I was hanging around with Walter in a hammock and we had good conversation. At some point the rum made it into his hands (that’s good for chilling), a coconut was opened (he had a lot of them) including nearly a loss of one of his fingers through an overconfident use of the machete. While smearing blood everywhere he conjured a cocktail with fresh coconut milk. Sun was setting slowly and we had some fried Bananas, with Tuna, Mayonnaise and Ketchup. Sounds awkward, was very tasty.

Walter is a good-hearted person and I was told to tell the world that he is eager to meet people, has a lot of space and charity and a very lonely existence at the end of the world. I am sure he likes to host people, doesn’t want money, and if you need information write to me. I promised that to him and maybe I will go there again by myself. And to be honest: The guy deserves a woman. He’s an awesome and caring person.

Catchin da lift!

This corner of the world, within the Darien Gap, is definitely remote and beautiful. No cars but roaring subwoofers in all villages. Maybe some time ago a subwoofer agent came through and sold them all every second house superb overdimensioned sound systems. Each village seems to have a sound system to sonificate at least 5000 persons running all day long with 10-20 village-people in front of it drinking beer listening to Caribbean music. It’s interesting as long as you don’t have to sleep in front of it. Which I had. On my forced campsite next to the military office. It was hard to get some sleep. But: The next morning the cargo ship will leave. Fact. I planned on getting up at 6 to not miss that. And I had no alarm clock so I had the get up somehow before 6 to pack my stuff to get my next ride. That one was everything but guaranteed…

Der Beitrag Hitchhiking around the Darien Gap – Jungle Fever erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

As we were docking at the fishing village a half naked rastaman came jumping towards us, waving charmingly with his machete, screaming, cursing, showing that we are not welcome here either. I felt like within a group of refugees. Hate coming towards us from everywhere, no place to be and on top of all that: this boat. I don’t really wanna call it boat since it was so small and full of holes, but it had at least three outboard motors pushing it. We were going in a convoy of two boats, one with raincover and one without although the raincover was just a plastic sheet nailed to wooden poles. I was a little surprised to see together six outboard engines for just a 70 km crossing but I favoured the theory that most of the engines were extras if the others break. After all we were crossing the channel between Trinidad and Venezuela and the ocean could get rough!

I was wrong with my theory. The three engines were used to bomb us towards Venezuela with maximum speed. They were incredibly noisy all together. Still, the cruise was nice. I somehow fell in love with the Venezuelan coast. High on the cliffs the jungle was majestically reaching for the sky, besides some fishing villages and two industrial sites there was nothing but wild beaches, palms and jungle.
To my further amusement we picked up a hitchhiker on the way. A fishing boy waving at us with his shirt. We turned from our way, headed towards the coast and picked him up. Picking up a hitchhiker here, in the middle of the abandoned jungle coastline, between Venezuela and Trinitad? Awesome! My passion was knocking. Finally: Awaiting Venezuela mainland. Putting my twitchy legs on land. Hitchhiking again, after two months on the sea. And it was supposed to work really well according to Hitchwiki. Especially pick-up trucks. I had really been looking forward to that. Couldn´t wait. the whole continent would open itself up for me, ready to be crossed by all those beautiful roads.
One of those trucks took us from the pier to the immigration office. The loading platform was corroded by rust so that I was able to see the road through the wheel case and also the sills bent to the point of breaking as we sat on them. As fast as possible, only limited by the material, we crossed the city. With about 20 km/h.

Where the hell is the immigration office?

Upcoming is the weirdest immigration I ever had in my life. We arrived at a small house with a man and his family inside, him carrying disgusting infection on his foot which he was bathing in a tub. My fellowship sat down, naturally. Looks like we were waiting for the lady with the stamp. In between we had time to change some money. I had brought Dollars since the official exchange rate was 1$ = 11 Bolivian Dollars but according to the internet you could get 1:75 on the black market. Thanks to the economy and oil crisis my rate was at 1:135 and I heard that you could get up to 1:180. A man with a hat and a motorbike awaited my 30 Dollars and rode off with them. Everybody had warned me about the danger and corruption in Venezuela and there I was handing him the money and he vanished.
After some time he was back and handed me 2700 Bolivian Dollars covering an exchange for 20$ according to our previously discussed exchange rate, Although I had given him 30$. He said that the 10$ had been Trinidad money and there my money was gone. I stayed cool and figured that this was all part of the experience of getting ripped off. My exchange rate was still very good. I was rich here.

Prejudice in my head

Our passports arrived, ready stamped to my surprise. I have no idea how it happened, I never saw any officials. I felt a little illegal but the stamp seemed to be fine so I stopped worrying about that. When crossing the border to Brazil I would be finding out that everything was fine.

As I finally sat in a car, my first lift, i thought about the last hours and realized that I had never had a 10$ note and that the changer didn’t fool me. It was my prejudice about Venezuela making me think that. I was ashamed because I had claimed he had not given me enough. He had just done his business the right way. That’s what you get after several weeks in the Caribbean between aristocratic sailor, that tell you every day how dangerous and corrupt Venezuela was supposed to be. I will be shot, robbed and fooled and anyway, I must be really crazy entering that country. Some Americans even got angry at me, why i go into this danger. Such a scam. In the end it was so different. Venezuela is a wonderful country. But that I would only experience after my first ride…

Der Beitrag Through the backdoor to Venezuela erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

Hello World

Welcome to my travel log. Two weeks ago I left home to hitchhike around the world. Sometimes I will walk, maybe ride a bike or a horse. I welcome you to join me on my way. On the one hand this blog will serve as a calming plattform for my dear relatives and on the other hand it will be the stone in which I carve all the crazy stories that will definitely come up on my path. This blog is freshly pressed and still under construction. Many things will change in the upcoming months. There are already some ideas on my mind but it will take some time until they are implemented.

The Route

There is no route. And there are all routes. There is no plan and no limit, no temporal restriction. I will travel by land and sea only and most of the time I will be hitchhiking. To be honest I would like to get around our small planet, travel once around the globe. The first basic idea is to hitchhike from Leipzig to Uruguay to visit my dear friend Ralf. Following that I might go to Argentina (to learn horse riding) – southernmost point of South America – North America – Russia – Central Asia – and so on …

Inspiration

In connection with this journey there is a big dream, a very special „Expedition” which will be detailed later on. Maybe you, dear reader, can already grasp what I mean with that. In 12 to 18 months I might be able to tell you more, until then I will be looking for the right thoughts to come to my mind.

My current mission: Hitchhiking from Leipzig to Uruguay

I started eleven days ago in Leipzig and made it without detours to Gibraltar. I will write something about this 104 hours lasting journey later. Right now I am trying to hitchhike through the Atlantic Ocean on sailing boats to somehow get to Brazil. Yesterday was the first time that i asked sailors for a ride. And guess what happened: I got a lift to Madeira. We will leave on Sunday. And I have not the slightest idea about sailing. My first time on a boat, sailing into the open sea. Somehow I expect to get seasick but I don’t know for sure. I am facing my first voyage with a mixture of being afraid and fascinated. Still I have to add: I am afraid, but I don’t fear anything. Why should I?

My first ride and El Capitano

My first captain is Rene. He is in his late sixties and the prototype of a thoroughbred sailor. He is on the sea since forty years, was a professional skipper (many sailors at the harbour don’t even have a sailing license) and spreads a relaxed feeling. When I asked him the day before for a place on board he just replied: „Sure, can take you.” Sailing experience? Cost sharing? Any conditions? Nada. It was very uncomplicated. I slept over it for a night because Madeira is not on my route through the Atlantic Ocean. Usually you go from Gibraltar to the Canary Islands – Capeverdean Islands and to the Caribbean. But concerning hitchhiking in the end the ocean is just like a highway with scheduled traffic. Shouldn’t be a problem to get off Madeira. And finally, I had already been on the boat today helping Rene with some repair work confirming our agreement.

My first ride. 47ft boat named Sun Odysee. You could see from the equipment and its arrangement on the boat that Rene is a professional. A huge amount of technical equipment, alarm systems, internet (1,80€ a minute) and satellite TV, pretty luxurious for a sailing boat. I feel like on a unsinkable high tech Titanic. This man knows all the upgrades he made to the boat. Today he kindly informed me that „on my boat you will find equipment that is unique in this harbour. Everybody is giving the boat strange looks.” I am sure that this will be a really interesting ride especially since he will be able to show and explain me a lot of things. As a rookie I will gladly absorb all that knowledge.

Well, thats it for the first entry. I am happy to see you reading, commenting, ask me anything, leaving greetings behind and have your thoughts reaching out for me. You are welcome to drop by every now and then. I will do my best to make it worthwhile.

Der Beitrag Prologue: My first ride – sailing to Madeira! erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.