Accidents Will Happen
March 16, 2012
Travel, as in life, invokes a series of risks. When we wake up the morning you never can tell what the day will bring, good or bad. When you travel, the risks are compounded, especially if you step off the beaten path.
I have had my fair of incidents in my years on the road, including a motorcycle wreck in Marrakech Morocco, and too many close calls to mention, including crossing dangerous mountain passes in Nepal, Mexico, Guatemala and other harrowing routes (note to self- there are no atheists on a Third World bus); being robbed in Turkey, Greece, Thailand and Mexic0; and even just driving around chasing the Fabulous Ruins of Detroit. I fell off two ledges in complete darkness, once in Morocco where I was saved by a swimming pool, the other in Honduras where I landed on a pile of rocks which inflicted injury upon my person. I have been threatened with personal harm from unscrupulous characters, been abused by touts and con artists, taken a few wrong turns at the fork in the road, but managed to come up for more.
If you don’t believe in Guardian Angels then spend some time on the old dusty road and if you pay enough attention, you may become a convert.
Case in point, our side trip to Grenada Nicaragua over the weekend. As noted in previous blog, Paul and Lorri own some properties in Playa Coco that we are renting for a couple weeks. They stay here for six months every year, and as their 90 day visa in Costa Rica had expired, they were required to leave the country and re-enter to avoid fines or deportation. After some discussion, they decided to cross into the nearest border at Nicaragua and visit the charming town of Granada Nicaragua.
We had vacationed in Granada in 2008, renting a sweet villa with a pool for 19 days. You can read more about Granada here, but suffice to say we loved the small city, with its deep historical roots, and its architecture that harkens back to the Conquistadores. So we jumped at the opportunity to travel up to Granada with Paul and Lorri, and off we went.
Paul has a Chrysler Hemi pick-up with a king cab that he imported from Florida to Costa Rica. His visa run routine is to drive to the border of CR and Nica, park the truck, walk through customs and then grab a cab to Granada. Total driving time of about two and half hours while the border is an unknown equation- they have waited as long a five hours getting visa- but we were hoping for the best.
Off we were on another adventure, a typical Guanacaste morning, clear, hot and windy. Soon we found ourselves at the border, passing a long line of trucks by driving along the on coming traffic lane. After dealing with a gang of touts, Paul negotiated a price to park the truck, and we made our way through the lines at Customs in both CR and Nica in under a half an hour- a record for Paul and Lorri who do a Visa run every year. I won’t go into details on the hassles with touts at the border but suffice it to say they get in your face and there are a lot of them. Paul and I are both large dudes so this helped but they are relentless, providing false information at every turn in order for us to become reliant on their service.
Tout Land
After negotiations and a pleasant taxi ride in a somewhat beaten car, where we drove along Lake Cocibolca, the world’s twentieth largest lake, passed the two magnificent volcanoes on the island of Ometepe, Concepción and Maderas, joined by a low-slung isthmus to form one island in the shape of an hourglass as part of the Pacific Ring of Fire.
ometepe island
We soon spotted Mombacho, the volcano that looms over the city at every turn (we climbed it on our last trip- very cool). Eventually we were deposited in the centre square on a blistering tropical afternoon, no worse for wear. We climbed aboard a horse-drawn carriage, which are still used as taxis, and sought out lodging for a couple of nights. This was little trickier than planned as Granada has become a tourist hot spot. The places we checked were full and eventually we ended up right back in the square at Hotel Alhambra. The rooms were just so so, but the lobby and terrace over looked the main square, which was a great way to pass time.
Granada Taxi
Soon we were established in our new residences, lounging by the hotel pool, shopping for trinkets and dining at one of the fabulous Granada restos, more expensive now than four years past, but still great values. Walking along the cobbled streets, listening to horse hoofs, is a definite “set the wayback” moment.
Scenes from a Banana Republic
So it was on a fine Sunday morning, after enjoying breakfast on the terrace overlooking the main square in town when Paul came up with the suggestion we rent bikes. The city is mostly flat and easy to bike, a great way to tour about, something we had not done four years previous. The bikes were only $1 an hour so after handing over a piece of ID to the obviously stoned proprietor (red flag?) I hopped on a mountain bike which had crappy brakes. In hindsight this was a very bad call but at the time it seemed like a good idea.
Our first stop was at Dona Alba, a cigar factory and outlet. After sampling a local handroll, we moved to the outskirts of town and found the baseball park. Baseball is serious in this country, in fact the game is an obsession, which you can read about here.
It cost us .50 cents to watch what essentially a pick up game. The stadium was grandiose, the grandstands featured shade but the cheap seats showed no mercy in the brutal sun. On this day, the crowd was sparse as the home team had played a big game the night before. We watched the game for a couple of innings, enjoying the full on band that played between innings. The players and umps had all the mannerisms of the pros, from the stance to the arguments- very entertaining.
Granada Stadium
Cheap Seats
Paul wanted to check out a restaurant fro our evening dining pleasure, so we got directions, rode our bikes through the traditional market, and turned toward the volcano. Heading down a steep hill, up ahead a boy kicked a soccer ball into the road, a car honked its horn, I hit my brakes which failed me on the steep decent and I hit the soccer ball dead on. This caused my bike to flip me into the air, and I landed hard on the road, which did not offer any cushion. This is a trick that would normally be very difficult to achieve, hitting a ball head on while riding full speed downhill!
Like most accidents this one happened in the blink of an eye. I picked myself up, Paul turned around, but the news was not good. My elbow looked like hamburger, bleeding profusely.
We had just passed a woman who was washing her car, so I limped back up the steep hill. She washed out my elbow but it was apparent that the hospital was in order. The family all came out the see the gringo’s injury, and they provided me with bandages and antiseptics. Guardian Angel #1.
Her son, who spoke good English, said there was a pharmacy up the street, and then walked us up there. At the pharmacy, she took one look at my elbow and said: hospitale! It was a mess, but she wrapped it in gauze and the bleeding subsided for less than a dollar- Angels 2 & 3.
Surprisingly, I was able to ride, having gouged my knee in three places but no breaks as far as I could tell, so we rode to the restaurant where we were to meet up with the women and informed them of the tragedy. The restaurant owner said it was best to go a private clinic, called them to ensure they were open, and then called me a cab. Angel #4
At the clinic, which looked closed and not a sole in sight, the nurse on staff said the doctor would be coming soon. Paul kept my spirits up with jokes and commentary on my ability to hit a soccer ball on a bike, the nurse kept us company as well (Angel # 5) and soon the doctor came, stitched me up, and I was good to go. Walking was a challenge as I apparently bruised the bottom of my foot somehow. This foot bruise in fact would prove to be the most painful injury, as it made walking a challenge.
The next day, we had to reverse our tracks and head south to CR. I was banged up pretty good but managed to shuffle along with everyone. The good news is, nothing was broken. The bad news is, no swimming for the next week or so.
Coulda been a whole lot worse!
Squeeze Play
Baseball Seats
Tropical Ease
Cruisin’ To Costa Rica
Last summer, I booked into a memorial golf tournament in Michigan, a chance to hang with old and new friends, a mix of Windsor and Detroit golfers, our side organized by my buddy Jack Renner (of Road to Tucson fame). Our contingent met up in Windsor and crossed over to play in Mount Clemens.
I got paired up with Paul Kuerek, whom I hadn’t seen in a couple of years.Paul and I have played some golf together over the years and always had fun. Paul brought me up to date on his life and mentioned that he owned 4 small condos in Playa Coco, Costa Rica. He and his partner Lorri had been spending the past few winters down in CR escaping south as do so many Canadians, renting out the units to weather beaten Canadians.
We exchanged some emails after that about renting a couple of the condos. I checked online, and as it was only August I booked three tickets on points for March break- basically free tickets (small tax portion only). As the condos were ensuites, featuring a small kitchen and double bed, I realized this would not work for Elaine and I plus our daughter Rosalie, so we booked two units. We were hoping Rose could bring a friend but that did not pan out.
Time goes by slowly and quickly and before we knew it, the day arrived when we were scheduled to head south. We had stopped in Puerto Limon on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica in 2005 while on an exotic cruise and really liked what we saw. We had taken the cruise ship’s crew advice and went to nearby beach, spent the day relaxing and swimming. We thought an extended stay in CR would be a good call, as we had rented a villa in Grenada Nicaragua in 2008 for almost three weeks and had a blast.
Out the door to the airport. The bad news was that the flight had been moved up from 7:30am to 6:30 am. Guess what- we had to be up at 4 am to ensure we were on time for our departure. At US Customs, the agent informed me that my passport was invalid. My first thought was that I had grabbed an expired one. But then I realized I had already triple-checked, so I said I did not understand. The guy was a bit of a jerk and pulled my chain along for a time then finally informed me that I had not signed my passport. This after travelling through customs in Hong Kong and Bali twice, and Toronto. When my heart finally stopped racing I signed the damn thing and we were on our way.
Even though it was 5 am at airport parking, the air was very mild for March. Windsor was about to have a taste of spring, 60 degrees so I didn’t even bother with a jacket, just a golf vest and shorts!
We had full day in Miami as our flight to Liberia CR was not until 6pm ( we landed in MIA at 9:30am). I made arrangements to rent a car, and as they couldn’t give us the vehicle we wanted they upgraded us to a Mazda 6, which was peppy but of course no match for my E-Class Mercedes. We drove up the coast from south beach to Pompono Beach, which was really just a giant wall of condos and hotels with narry a sight of the ocean or beach. The day was gloomy, overcast and rainy so we were not in full holiday mode yet.
We had a great albeit quick visit with our friends Don and Cathy, who said it was the finest winter, weather-wise since they’d been coming to Florida. We walked down to the beach but the wind was howling and the rain starting coming down in earnest. We hightailed it out of there and drove back the airport along I-95. The traffic gods smiled upon us as the entire freeway heading north was completely jammed with a major traffic accident- it extended for miles as we drove south. Had it been the other way we surely would have missed our flight.
Back at MIA airport, Elaine began to complain about stomach issues. As we flew southwest following a gorgeous sunset, she began to really feel sick, including vomiting into the air sickness bag. Not good. She tried in vain to hold it together when we landed. A comedy of errors was set in motion, as the ground crew could not pull the modern ramp up to the plane. We waited until they drove the old school ramp up, the one with the ladder. We had to walk down and then across the tarmac in a howling wind (Rosalie said the landing was “terrifying” in the cross wind). Elaine was really in bad shape physically, and once our bags arrived (yes!) we had to pass through customs and then have our bags x-rayed- which was a total joke as the bags kept stacking up at the end of the conveyor and the security paid no attention to the bags being x-rayed. Our bags, including our precious laptops, were crushed under pile of heavy cases, which needless to say got tosed off our gear in short order. I was not a happy camper
Elaine had another attack of the vomits, and I grabbed her arm while trying to steer her to the nearest washroom, across the arrivals lounge. I asked Rosalie to stay with the bags, but she was dead tired and just wanted to sit. I dropped Elaine at the washroom, and headed back to see how Rosalie was making out, when I saw a porter headed out the front door with my laptop bag. I chased after him, not sure what was happening but ready for any eventuality. I grabbed the bag, which contained not only my laptop, but our passports and cash for the condo rental. Apparently the laptop bag fell of the baggage cart when Rosalie decided she need to sit and moved the cart toward the window. She had noticed my bag fall off the bag cart as Rosalie was both delirious and tired. The porter thought the bag had fallen off a cart from a tour group getting into a bus- a case of mistaken identity but looking an awful lot like a snatch and grab.
To recap- my wife is sick, vomiting etc…My daughter is bone tired and loses track of our most important bag which is saved in the nick of time. And to top it off our friends Paul and Lorri are nowhere in sight.
Of course there is no wifi in the airport, even though it is ultra-modern, so I cannot skype them. At the phone booth the machine will not accept my card and yes everything is in Spanish. Evidently I looked frazzled at this point, and a taxi driver walks up and in perfect English asks if I need help. I explain our dilemma and he hands me his cel phone. I call Paul’s number, lo and behold it rings- and yes Paul answers. The flight info I sent them said the plane landed at 8:30pm but did not allow for local time, which would have been 7:30pm Central Time. This is the third screw up from the British Airways/American Airlines partnership on OneWorld- what a joke but I am not laughing.
Soon enough Paul and Lorri haul ass to the airport, which Paul says he makes in 17 minutes instead of the usual 30. God bless him. We are relieved beyond belief, hop in his huge Dodge Ram pick up (another story) and head to Playa Ocotel to our condos.
Safe and sound…..
Dispatch from North Bali
This story appeared in the local media. As is often the case, truth is stranger than fiction. Not sure if the bride wore white.
The Bali Post reports that Sangit, Buleleng, North Bali was awash with frantic activity on Tuesday, 4 October 2011, as the entire village gathered on the ocean’s shore to participate in the ritual drowning of a cow.
The ill-fated cow, sentenced to an early watery grave, was known to have recently been sexually violated by a 25 year old man from the village, identified only as “MS.”
Sexual intercourse with an animal is viewed by most Balinese as “salah karma,” entailing grave consequences in the order of the cosmos.
The incident between the man and the bovine occurred in September and became known to the entire village, who termed the encounter a “disaster,” demanding group prayers and special offerings be made.
According to the village chief or “Klian” of Sangsit, the required cleansing ceremony required the drowning in the ocean of the cow that had been carnally known by MS.
On Tuesday morning, the hapless animal was ritually cleansed at a village temple and then dressed in colourful cloths, symbolizing the adornments of a “bride” to be wed to MS.
Afterwards the cow was loaded into a local boat, hauled out to sea and pushed overboard, where it was allowed to drown. Meanwhile MS was compelled to remove his clothing which were symbolically thrown into the water with his “bride”, representing his own drowning. Fresh clothing were given to the man on the boat who, when he returned to shore, was considered ritually cleansed of his sin.
The entire ceremony cost around RP 40 million (US $4,450) and was paid from contributions from all members of the village. Surprisingly MS (known to be a man of limited financial means) was not asked to make any financial contributions for the ceremony by his fellow villagers.
The traditional and ritual head of the village, Jro Gede Segara, told The Bali Post that the act was committed by the village member while the perpetrator was “under a spell and not conscious of his actions. The incident was part of a natural cycle committed unintentionally, (because of this) the village must receive the consequences as matter of fate” explained Segara.
MotorBike Riding in Bali
“Your karma just ran over my dogma.”
So you wanna explore the sights, roam the terrain, get far away from the madding crowds? The easiest way to move about the Ubud district or Bali in general is by renting a scooter or motorcycle. There are no shortage of places that will facilitate this for you; motorbike rental companies seem to be on every corner…
In fact two-wheeled vehicles are the preferred mode of travel for most locals, given the high cost of automobiles in this part of the world- and also the most economical. Gas is crazy cheap here, as Indonesia is a major producer and exporter of oil. It is nonetheless surprising to witness the variety of motor vehicles on the roadways, including everything from smart cars and similar compacts to monster size SUV Esclanades and Hummers.
Balinese Station Wagon- photo by David Trevelyan
To drive here, you must learn about the new normal. Local rules of the road that are completely foreign to those of us accustomed to western driving. In fact getting on a scooter or motorbike here is akin to learning a new language, and many a traveler has paid a heavy price for thinking it is a good call to rent a moped or scooter and head off into the rice paddies to take in the scenery. All too common are stories of serious injury- and even death- due to all the hazards that await on Bali’s roads.
Normally in the west, we think of a road as having two lanes with a dividing line down the middle. Drivers know to keep to their side of the road – at their peril. That type of thinking is thrown out the window here.
Take a normal road and divide it into at least five lanes, as follows (Balinese adhere to the British system of right side steering – which is rather odd considering the country was colonized by the Dutch- go figure!)
Two Normal Traffic Lane: These are loosely defined as the left and right traffic routes, but actually have little bearing on how things flow
Middle Lane: This is used for passing and weaving into and out of on-coming traffic, getting as close as possible to vehicles approaching from the opposite direction as your nerves will allow
Shoulder Lanes: Best used for merging into the normal traffic lanes, also used for passing, the storage of building materials, including dirt, sand, rocks, may feature giant holes without warning, trucks and cars parked into the roadway without regard for driver safety, pedestrians walking, bicycle riders laden with all manner of agricultural products, dogs squatting, chickens and chicks scrambling. Load the bike with as many people as will sit (the Asian station wagon).
road hazard- stick serves as marker
Now take a picture traffic moving in both directions. Young turks on fast motorbikes weaving in and out of traffic at mind-bending speed requiring perfect timing less they be consigned to the “donor-cycle”; giant buses negotiating lanes ill-suited for their size; scooter riders texting while steering with one hand! Turning left and right at seemingly impossible moments as traffic lunges toward you.
Throw in the constant downpours we’ve had while I have been here, the instant donning on rain parkas and the inability to see through the helmet visor. Landslides, mudholes, giant puddles or small ponds in the middle of the road.
Now drive as fast as you can.
I decided it wasn’t worth it to take a chance and nominated myself as a passenger hanging on as we weave through the Ubud environs. In the morning, when we set out early, riding on the back of the scooter will definetely clear the cobwebs from your sleepy head.
You will be wide awake as soon as you enter the merging lane, better than a cup of super strong local coffee, and after a couple of bumps jar your tailbone into your belly button, you’ll know exactly what they mean when they say that there are no atheists on SE Asian roads.
Tyra Banks Gets Her “love” in Bali
Here in Ubud Bali my buddy Dave just rolled his eyes after reading this one. the women just keep on coming
