Americas

Koky

The owner of the hotel raved about him. Guests at breakfast told us that he’d “made their trip”. He was, allegedly, the best guide in all of the cloud forests of Costa Rica. He was a legend and, like many legends, was known by only one name; Koky.

So we booked both morning and night tours through the dense, high altitude rain forests and were to meet him the night before to discuss. From all the talk, I was expecting a cross between Indiana Jones and Rambo. That evening, during sunset happy hour,  a small middle-aged man walked in, just over five feet; just over hundred pounds. And instead of machetes and bull whips, he had field guides and binoculars lashed to his body. Soft spoken and humble, when he realized I was into birding, he responded quietly, “My specialty is birds.” I had a good feeling about Koky.

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Koky – The bird whisperer.

The following morning as we walked down the trail in the early morning mist, we realized immediately the rumors were true; Koky was something special. He was constantly pointing things out that we would have otherwise walked past, oblivious: Plants, animals, insects, birds.

He would cock his head; “Did you hear that?” Most of the time I had not heard a thing. Koky would whistle a reply call and wait. In response, in the distance, we could hear a faint bird call.” There it is, the (insert bird name here).” As he took off double-step in the direction of the call. “Follow me.”

Having grown up wandering through these woods, he had a vast knowledge of the natural surroundings and so it wasn’t long before he spotted the holy grail of Costa Rican birds, The Resplendent Quetzel. Fanatical birders travel from all over the world to see this bird, often with no luck.

Quasil

Resplendent Quetzel- taken on an iPhone through Koky’s spotting scope

But there it was! It looked more tropical fish than bird; bright red and magenta plumage, a long flowing tail, an over-sized helmet of feathers. And with a diet that consists solely of small avocados, this was truly a strange creature.

So after a successful day tour, we met Koky again after dinner for the night tour. It was pitch black, but he had a bag of flashlights.

About 30 seconds in, he bent down, grabbed his light and peered down a hole in the embankment. “Look down here, tarantula!” I carefully looked in, and six inches down, there was a black and orange striped tarantula looking back at me with eight eyes. Koky explained that even with eight eyes they don’t see well but hunt through sensing the vibrations from insects walking in front of his lair. To demonstrate, Koky picked up a twig and and gently tapped it around the entrance, imitating prey. The massive spider came charging out, ready to strike. I hurriedly took a few steps back. I’m not good with spiders.

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Tarantula

We continued down the dark trail, with Koky leading with a flashlight. Again he abruptly stopped, reached above his head and grabbed a large leaf, nothing special. He flipped the leaf over to reveal a huge stick bug. How on earth did he see that in the dark? Did he smell it?

stick bug

stick bug

He also, somehow, spotted an elusive tree cat, the Margay, in the middle of the night high up in a tree. He must have a sixth sense. When Koky walked down the path and passed other guides, they would part before him and bow at his feet. I’m only exaggerating slightly.

Koky lived up to the hype. His knowledge of the surrounding nature was immense; his ability to spot wildlife, uncanny. His ability to talk to birds, freakish. In his spare time, he is also a soccer referee for the local school.

I want to be Koky when I grow up.

Categories: Costa Rica - February 2015 | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Toothpick Art

Over the years we have brought back some unusual items from our travels. They are usually large and fragile and not the easiest thing to pack.

A massive King Cake from New Orleans, gently placed (yet still squished) in the overhead, plaster statues of Hindu gods stuffed into carry-on bags from Delhi, a ‘Bird Girl’ garden statue from Savannah and even didgeridoos from Australia, (via London!) bubble-wrapped in the hold. Sometimes we have to buy more luggage and yet it’s still touch and go whether the treasure makes it home in one piece.

So I was already wondering what huge, and most likely delicate, memento we would be bringing back from Nicaragua.

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Museum signage!

We had spent the day walking the small streets of colonial Granada, and were headed back to the hotel when we passed a six-foot tall papier-mache bear with an empty rum bottle taped to his hand welcoming us to ‘Mi Museo’. Clearly, it looked too strange to pass up, so we went in.

The one-room museum was filled with dozens of small glass cases and large paper-mache creatures. The young women, who only spoke Spanish, showed us around the cases filled with individual toothpicks encased in glass test tubes. Each one was precisely carved and painted to represent the famous, infamous and not-so-famous; Barack Obama, The Simpsons, and friends and family of the artist. Even with the supplied magnifying glass at each case, they were still hard to see.

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La ingles rubio


After a few minutes, a small man walked in and introduced himself as the artist. He had wonderful, bright eyes, and was more than willing to talk about his art in animated Spanish. (We figured it out though a mixture of grade school spanish, a dictionary he kept on-hand and a lot of gesturing.) He continued his in-depth tour of the studio, pointing out to us who each toothpick was. We moved to the wall, where we finally noticed his paintings  – each no bigger than the size of a postage stamp. Again we used the magnifying glass to examine volcanoes, dreams, and anti-war images, in all their tiny glory.

fred

The artist

After an hour, the tour was still in full-swing and we had picked out a microscopic volcanic painting and a toothpick statue of a blonde English woman he had once known! We finally tore ourselves away, and he signed some documents to state that they were authentic and they carefully wrapped them into a tiny paper package.

Finally, at last, something easy to get home! Usually we have to worry if there will be enough room, but now we had a new problem – losing it in our luggage!

 

Pequeño pero hermoso

Categories: Nicaragua - February 2015 | Tags: , | 1 Comment

Costa Rican Pigeons

We were in Quepos, Costa Rica, having lunch at a local outdoor cafe near the fishing boat dock. I have always found it annoying when I’m at a outdoor cafe and pigeons are at my feet pecking at anything that even slightly resembles food. However, at this cafe, instead of pigeons under the table, there were iguanas scurrying about looking for food scraps.

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These large lizards come up from the harbor through the reeds and under the fence into the cafe. None of the other patrons seemed to notice, or care.

I certainly noticed.

Some were going on nearly three-feet long, multi-colored, with long claws. They scurried along the slick concrete floor, fighting with each other for hand-outs.

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I realized then, that while pigeons are annoying, nothing compares to eating lunch with a massive lizard eye-balling you from close quarters.

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Categories: Costa Rica - February 2015 | Tags: | 3 Comments

Play ball! – Nicaraguan style.

Are you sick of paying the high prices of Major League Baseball? Tickets, beer, concessions? Try heading South, way South.

Granada Stadium

Granada Stadium

We went to a baseball game in Granada, Nicaragua, home of The Sharks. (Los Tiburones.)  The previous day, we asked the nice man at the hotel front desk when the next baseball game was. He made some calls on our behalf only to conclude “It starts tomorrow morning around 9.30 or 10, or maybe 10.30.” What?!

We walked to the field early Sunday morning, the streets were deserted, the city was just waking up. We arrived at ten; just as things got underway. Perfect timing.

Go Sharks

Go Sharks!

It turned out to be a Sunday morning Double-header. That was just the first difference between MLB and Nicaraguan baseball. Here’s some more!

  • Average ticket price at Fenway park this year: $53.38. We paid $ 1.40 per ticket. And that was for both games.
  • Stray dogs wander around the stadium looking for hand-outs. One ran onto the field in the bottom of the second causing a short delay of game.
My new friend.

My new friend

  • Mets fans pay $6.25 for a hot dog at Citibank Field Park. We got a plastic bag full of yummy home-made fried plantain chips with salsa and Nicaraguan coleslaw, for just 35 cents.
baggie of fried plantaines.

Bag of fried plantains

  • Instead of massive HD TV screens, they had a band at the back of the right field seats. As many as eight rotating members, with tubas, trumpets, a drumset and bass drum. Between innings, they blast out funky Latin songs.
Bleacher band

Bleacher band

It was now 11 AM, still a little early for beer. So I headed to the concession stand to see if I could get us some refreshing rum cocktails. I massacred the Spanish language trying to accomplish this; The closest row of fans tried to help me out, but it was no use. I ended up pointing at things; cokes, ice. I then pointed to a bottle of liquor gesturing to see if they had anything smaller? No? Ok, I’ll take the big bottle: Turns out it wasn’t rum, it was Nicaraguan sugarcane liquor in a plastic bottle.

How many U.S. stadiums do you know of that you can buy a fifth of booze?

A little help from my friends

  • You want a local micro brew at Safeco field, Seattle = $9.75.
  • At Sharks stadium, 2 cups of ice + 2 cokes + A fifth of sugarcane liquor
    = $6.50.  And it’s the Coke that’s expensive.
Sugar cane liquor, cup of ice, coke

Sugarcane liquor + cup of ice + coke = priceless

At the end of the eighth inning, both teams came out and shook hands. The game was over after only 8 innings? I guess it was because they were playing a double-header. Bizarro.

Categories: Nicaragua - February 2015 | Tags: , | Leave a comment

Surfing Nicaragua

It has been a few years since I almost decapitated myself and received forty stitches to put my upper lip back together surfing in Malibu.  But strange as it may seem, I was eager to try it again. We were in the surf capital of Nicaragua, San Juan del Sur visiting with my childhood friend, Sean and his parents. I figured this was the best place to put the past behind me and jump back on the waves.

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Playa Remanso

There were five of us on this excursion; myself, Helen, Sean, his daughter Vega and her B.F., Tabor. We bumped down a dirt road that ended at a picturesque beach tucked into a small bay bordered by palm trees. There were two small open air beach shack cafes that sold beer and food and rented surfboards. They were just as you would imagine, thatched roof, hammocks, laid-back teenage bartender and Reggae playing over the dated sound system. They made the best grilled fish tacos we had all trip. This was our one beach day; we had the beach (& the bar) to ourselves. This place was perfect.

Macuá cocktail at the beach shack

 

Sean and I got geared up and headed out into the water, thankfully the surf was small, as, turns out, I am a rubbish surfer.  Even just waiting for the right waves to come in, I can barely even sit on the surfboard. As the perfect set rolls in, I fall off.

My paddling ‘technique’ to catch a wave was a frenzy; frantically flailing my arms, splashing about and basically going nowhere. Miraculously, somehow I would occasionally catch a wave, but standing up was a different matter. I would get to my feet, off-balance, and instantly tumble head-over-heels into the water.

It’s slightly embarrassing and somewhat surprising given I have spent years of my life snowboarding; it obviously doesn’t translate over. Even Vega and Tabor were able to stand on the surfboard longer than me and they are nine and ten years old.

Surf’s Up!

 

Anyway, I don’t care I’m a crappy surfer; it was a great beach day hanging out with a good friend on empty foreign beaches. And best of all no injuries – I am just glad I’m still trying, even after my surfboard lobotomy!

(Pictures and stories from my Malibu surf accident: not for the squeamish. https://goneonholidaybymistake.com/category/americas/california-april-2011/)

Categories: Nicaragua - February 2015 | Tags: , | 1 Comment

Volcano boarding

With the Pacific NorthWest having lowest snowfall in history, I decided to try my luck ‘snowboarding’ a little further south – Nicaragua.

Cerro Negro is one of the 28 volcanos in the county and the only one in the world you can ride down on a board. You can slide down either sitting on a rudimentary toboggan or standing, like on a snowboard. Helen was very excited to do this, but I was a little more skeptical, It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Ceda Negro

Cerro Negro crater

Cerro Negro last erupted in 1999 and the jet black dried lava contrasts sharply against the green rolling hills that surrounds it. We saw multiple small craters as we slowly climbed up, past small vents emitting wispy clouds of steam. The trail climbed 1500 feet in elevation and as the temperature was above 90 degrees, thankfully only took an hour.

Top crater.

At the top!

We reached the top and walked over to look into the dormant crater; the smell of sulfur was strong. When you scratched through the first layer of dirt, the ground below was hot to the touch and steam started to rise from the hole. We had a 360 degree view of the Pacific Ocean, numerous other volcanoes and the lush countryside of Nicaragua.

Ready.

Ready to roll.

But now it was time to descend! So we put on our over-sized jumpsuits for protection and I strapped on my board. We had the latest in high-tech equipment; plywood cut roughly into a shape of a board with worn linoleum on the bottom and basic strapping to attach it to your feet.

Helen volunteered to go first on her plywood toboggan. She was off in a cloud of dust and she quickly was out of sight over the steep incline. When it was my turn to go, I had to basically point straight downhill to get going, with a gloved hand at the ready to catch my fall.

Helen in mid-descent.

Helen mid-descent.

It turns out that volcanic ash and rock is a little more resistant than snow. I can’t say I was ripping down the mountain, but I slowly got the hang of it, stood up and ground down the volcano, fighting to stay upright. When I reached the bottom I was boiling hot and just relieved that I didn’t take a tumble.

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Grinding down the hill

While the riding was not exactly like a powder day at Mount Baker after a massive dump on a bluebird day, it was a novelty to ride down a volcano. I don’t feel the need to do it again, but I’m glad I gave it a go; it was something I will never forget.

Categories: Nicaragua - February 2015 | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Freaky SF?

SF still freaky?

Is SF still freaky?

I wandered down lower Haight Street, through the neighborhood where I lived for a while. It was a little sketchy, anything-goes, kind of hood 22 years ago. With all the talk of gentrification in San Francisco, I was looking to see how the area has changed. Would it be less gritty? Less freaky?

It was midday and only a handful of of people were on the sidewalks. Then suddenly from down a sidestreet, out strolls a naked dude. Butt-naked except for some running shoes and a little clutch purse in his hand. He sauntered across the street with not a care in the world. I wondered to myself, where is he going? Out running some errands – Starbucks, laundry?

He was in his late-fifties, not in his prime. As painful a picture as it was, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Thankfully, I resisted the initial urge to take a photo.

But I was glad to see San Francisco is Still Freaky.

Categories: San Francisco, CA - October 2014 | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

Diving in S.F.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the colloquial use of the word ‘dive’ to describe a ‘drinking den’ or ‘other disreputable place of resort’ comes from the fact  that these types of establishments were originally housed in cellars or basements, into which ‘frequenters may ‘dive’ without observation.

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Aunt Charlies Gay Dive Bar

Helen had a conference in San Francisco and I was lucky enough to tag along. I lived in S.F. decades ago, and have visited a half-dozen times since. So I have done all the touristy things and explored all the neighborhoods. Helen was conferencing all day and I had an afternoon free, at a bit of a loss of what to do.

As I walked through parts of the city that I vaguely remember from my past. I wondered if some of the old drinking establishments I had frequented back in the day were still around decades later. A light bulb! The plan hit me; A tour of as many dive bars as I could. Revisit some old haunts and find some new ones. I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon. It’s amazing how many bars you can hit in that short time. Even with a only one cheap beer per bar, I was a little staggered at the end of the crawl.

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Staggered.

There were a lot of lessons learned on this day. Here’s 3 of them.

1) Signs you’re in an SF Dive Bar:

  • A slightly sticky floor with the smell of stale beer
  • Ice in the urinal
  • A jukebox full of punk rock
  • The only food is frito-lay products, in small bags; beef jerky if you’re lucky
  • CASH ONLY!
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I think it might be Cash Only.

2) SF Dive Bars Hours. They open early. Skip the double latte; start the day right with a double jack and coke.

A patron of the Brown Jug catching some rays open a 6 am

A patron of the Brown Jug catching some rays.
Open at 6 am – every day of the year.

3) Things Not to do in a SF Dive Bar:

Uncle Charles. With the best 85 year old deaf bartender in town

Freaky “Aunt Charlies’. With the best 85-year-old deaf bartender in town.

  • Don’t go into a gay dive bar in The Tenderloin alone. Not even in the middle of the day.
  • Don’t order an espresso. They’ve only got drip coffee from the decade-old coffee maker.
  • Don’t touch anything in the bathroom. Use your shoe where possible to open door, flush toilet etc..
  • Don’t eat the home-made pickled cocktail onions in a mason jar on the bar.
  • Don’t make eye contact.
  • Don’t ask if they have a local craft organic IPA on tap. All they have is Pabst Blue Ribbon !
Salon tavern bartender.. " All we have on tap is Pabst and it ran out yeserday?

The Salon tavern bartender.. “All we have on tap is PBR and it ran out yesterday.”

Categories: San Francisco, CA - October 2014 | Tags: , | 2 Comments

Tubing

It was the end of summer; the sun was out, but autumn was in the air. We waded out into the river with our tubes. The water was not that warm, but it was fine. We all jumped onto our tubes at the same time and started to slowly float down the Yakima River.

On the river

On the river

We carefully placed the cooler full of beer and food (but mostly beer) in the specially designed cooler tube. The most important job on the river was the keeper of the beer tube, lashing themselves to the precious cargo. There would be tears if the beer tube were to float away.

Precious cargo

Precious cargo

The Yakima at this time of year is not a raging torrent of water, but more of a Disneyland lazy river ride. At times you had to lift your bum up so it didn’t drag on the river bottom.  You steer by just paddling with your hands and every once in a while a snag or big rock would be sticking out of the water. At one point Helen was heading towards some rocks, and so she started to half-heartedly paddle, splashing away with only one hand, as she had a beer in the other. She was making zero progress, still drifting towards the rocks.

Chris had to yell “Put the beer down and paddle!” before she reluctantly complied, made an effort and steered around the rocks. Luckily it was certainly not a life and death scenario as we were only traveling down the river at a swift walking speed.

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We lashed all the tubes together into a huge raft as I leaned back, opened a beer and snacked on cheese and crackers as I slowly floated down the river. We passed through the Yakima River Canyon, with the canyon walls rising above us five hundred foot on either side. We kicked back, enjoyed the scenery and soaked up the sun.

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I can’t think of a better way to end the summer. And I can’t believe I haven’t done this before! What could be better? Floating through a beautiful canyon; sun, beer, good friends.  I think this is going to become an annual thing.

Categories: Yakima River, WA - September 2014 | Tags: | 1 Comment

Lucky White Trash Kayak Hat

The one thing I can’t forget on any kayak trip is my lucky hat; or Lucky White Trash Kayak Hat: LWTKH. I wear LWTKH for kayak trips only. I don’t want to use the luck up wearing it all the time; It might only have limited amount of mystical protective power. It hasn’t let me down yet. Eight years and counting.

LWTKH in Boughton's arkipeligo.

LWTKH in Broughton Archipelago.

It’s not easy being my lucky kayak hat. It has to endure salt water, sweat, blazing sun, dirt, sand. Plus poor LWTKH gets no respect: Left outside overnight, used as a potholder, lashed to the deck of my kayak. I wash it in a stream, wring it out and leave it on the beach to dry.

There have been times over the years on trips, in dangerous situations where I have needed a little luck.  LWTKH is always there for me, protecting me from peril, harm and rogue waves.

Lucky White Trash Kayak Hat

Lucky White Trash Kayak Hat.  Looking rough, Post-trip.

After a trip it looks like crap; plastered with sand, dirt stains and it smells like a cross between campfire smoke and wet cat.  But everytime, after a couple of washes, it looks surprisingly good.

If I were to forget it on a trip, I would drive back home for it, no matter how far. Seriously!

A trip would be doomed if I were to forget my Lucky White Trash Kayak Hat.

Categories: Broughton Archipelago, BC - September 2014 | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

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