Belize, Honduras and El Salvador

Did anyone else know that there was a Caribbean Island masquerading as a country in Central America? I sure didn't until I got to Belize.

After haggling with a tour bus driver at Tikal for 20 minutes over a price, he finally agreed to take us the remaining 100 km down a dusty, bumpy, sort-of-kind-of paved road to the border of Guatemala and Belize. And following the customary bribe to exit any Spanish speaking country in the area, I was cheerfully met on the other side of the border with, "Hello, and welcome to Belize." Upon recovering from my shock and having confirmed that, indeed, all the signs were in English, I smiled. I'm so glad I spent money on those Spanish lessons in Guatemala.

There are a lot of things to enjoy about Belize: the largest barrier reef in the world outside of Australia, ancient Mayan ruins in dense jungles and lovely beaches. However, hands down, the best part of Belize for me was the people. They were happy, friendly, cheerful and had this sort of Caribbean vibe of slow, nonchalantness about them. Apparently, way back when, the country was purchased by Great Britain for payment the Brits never delivered on. The Brits did, however, drop off boatloads of ex-slaves from Jamaica to colonize the area, leaving a distinctly Caribbean (and English speaking) flavor to the place.

Example number one of why I like the people so much: while we were hiking the 3 km from the border to the nearest bus station, a plain white truck pulled up next to us and rolled down it's window. Inside sat three middle-aged ladies returning from a trip in Guatemala who were simply appalled at us hiking down the road in that kind of heat. Therefore they insisted on giving us a ride to a bus station much further down the road than we originally aimed for, shortening our trip quite a bit.

There are lots of friendly missionaries in the area, too. After our bus broke down in the middle of nowhere Belize and left us stranded on the side of the road, we were picked up inside of 15 minutes by this lovely couple on their way to deliver a wheelchair to a family that they had met on a mission trip previously. They were also nice enough to drop us off in the tiny seaside town of Hopkins where we were taken care of in the most wonderfully motherly fashion by Rosie, the owner/operator/cook of her seaside hostel.

There in Belize, it was the low season for tourism, so we got the royal treatment from Rosie, seeing as we were the only guests. She made the most wonderful seafood from the local catches of the day and her kids gave delightful shows on how to drum in the local Garafuna style while they were bored and waiting for bed. It was so nice there, that when we decided to leave for a different city along the coast we just couldn't manage to wiggle ourselves out of the seaside hammocks in time to make the bus. Which turned out to be a good thing, since it was the end of the week and Rosie wanted to go out on the town. She very kindly took us along to the best (only?) place in town for nightlife and happily introduced us to their best drink. A few hours later after stumbling our way home, we decided that we would sadly have to move on if we wanted to stay on course for Panama by December.

So we got up early Sunday morning, packed our backpacks, and hitchhiked our way out to the main road and waited for the bus to come and take us to a ferry to Honduras. And we waited....and waited...and waited some more.... Turns out that the bus driver had been up late the night before as well, and was just a few hours behind schedule. These things are common here, as I was told.

Also, in case you were ever thinking of taking a ferry with me--don't. I have the worst luck with them. This time I managed to board a tiny ferry going from Belize to Guatemala that got caught in a rainstorm, soaking and jarring everyone thoroughly as it slammed into the increasingly frequent waves. It was so bad, that the onward ferry to Honduras was cancelled. Fortunately, Belize was the land of friendly missionaries, this time of the Methodist variety. This family of five had the same problem as us, but had actually planned ahead. They had a van with a driver waiting at the docks. And since we were heading towards the same city, they let us tag along.

Which was wonderful!

Except that Honduras was most certainly not. Have you ever walked into a bar where the music suddenly stops, every eye swings your way and you feel as if you really shouldn't be there and definitely aren't welcome? This was Honduras. It wasn't a nice place. After several countries in a row of smiling faces and welcoming people, the people of Honduras created a stark contrast. Part of traveling safely is knowing when you are in a bad situation and it's time to leave. Fast. So we skedaddled out on the next bus in the morning towards El Salvador. (And just so you know that I'm not giving a country a bad name, I have since confirmed that many travelers have felt similarly about their experiences in Honduras)

I have no idea what happened to the people of Honduras, because EVERY country bordering it is full of wonderful people, El Salvador perhaps being the best of them all. I cannot count the number of times that some random person in El Salvador was more than willing to help us out, even going so far as to walk in the dark for 15 minutes to help us find our hostel--wanting nothing more than a friendly conversation. They really are wonderful people. Too bad the country was so small.

Since we had hiked a couple of volcanoes rather recently, and were headed on to world class beaches in Nicaragua, we very unfortunately only stayed a few days. We did manage to spend some time at a lovely mountain lake, enjoyed the "route of flowers", a hike to a waterfall and some delicious food (papusas are amazing!). But the country was small and we were very eager to head to Nicaragua where everything is cheaper and the adventures are grand.

Next up: Attacked by monkeys!

Guatemala Week II

One of the constant adventures while traveling in foreign lands is the eduring struggle to understand what is going on. This is especially a problem when asking questions like, "Where is my hostel that I paid to sleep in tonight but can no longer find?" or when trying to figure out what's on a menu--"What do you mean I ordered shoes with cheese for dinner?!"

Therefore we thought it prudent to hunker down for a week or so and learn some Spanish. And fortunately for us, Guatemala has a glut of cheap places to learn Spanish. For under a $100, we could get 20 hrs a week of lessons and for a little bit more, could stay with a local family that provided 3 meals a day, 6 days a week. No more zapatos con queso (shoes with cheese) for me!

After searching far and wide through the internet and guidebooks we found a great school high in the mountains and situated on a picturesque lake, Lago Atitlan. We aimed to get away from it all, planning on immersing ourselves in the language, culture and customs of Guatemala. Oops! Turns out, it's quite a popular place. Half the town was native Guatamalans and the other half was stuffed with foreigners. The guidebook neglected to mention this small detail. Oh well--we were there, it was cheap and it was actually very beautiful. So we plunked down the money and proceeded to be bludgeoned by torrents of Spanish for four hours every day. Fortunately, our classes were all in the morning which left us with plenty of time to explore the gorgeous lake and nearby volcanoes.

Sort of.

Learning a language is one of those things in life that is more of a function of time put into studying than anything else. For every hour I spent in class, I needed to study at least that amount at night. And really, it was better that I didn't take my nose out of the books at all. But that's boring, and there were fun things to do and wonderful people to meet. I tried to be studious, Mom. Really, I did. But after a couple of days with my nose to the grindstone, I was dying for some fun. And Trish, with her wonderful ability to make friends with anyone anywhere, had found this cool local guy, Henry, who was more than happy to show us around. Taking us to the awesome cliff jumping spots, best local places to eat, and even to the largest zipline in Central America (over 1200 feet long!). The only downside was that his primary means of income was as a drug dealer (which we didn't know at first) and he would stop at various places along the way making shady transactions. That was just a bit awkward. But there were other wonderful people, like the wonderful British Couple that we partied the night away with and Barry, the Environmental-Capitalist whom with we shared many bottles of Chilean wine and politico-philosophical debates.

However after a week of the same scenery--amazing at it was--and with newfound confidence in our ability to get around speaking Spanish, we scratched the itch to move on to greener pastures and meandered our way to the next town down the road, Antigua.

Antigua, unfortunately, is a tourist trap. Full of expensive places to stay, quaint churches to look at, quiet coffee shops and completely chocked full of foreigners. (I think I've seen at least 50 cities like this now) But the reason we came to Antigua is that it's situated near an active volcano--that you can climb! With that sort of activity on it's doorstep, how could we not go? So we quickly hopped on a tour headed that way and proceeded to climb Volcan Pacaya. The only unfortunate thing with this trip was that we had to stay with a group the entire way (it's not safe otherwise). Which means that we had to always wait for the slowest person. And we were climbing a mountain with lava pouring down the side. It's not something you get to see every day and I was understandably a bit impatient (especially since sunset was fast approaching and I was not relishing the idea of climbing down a mountain in the dark). Luckily, the locals are prepared for lazy tourists who can't climb mountains. They will rent you a horse! For a price. So after finding horses large enough for our more out of shape travel companions, we scrambled across boulders, up paths of shifting sand, fought the winds whipping around us, and finally arrived at our destination--flowing lava! Most fortunately I came prepared for this. Roasting marshmallows has never been more fun! And, really, how often do you get to play around with lava? Then when I thought things couldn't get better, the sun set over the lava and into the valley bellow. It's times like this that I absolutely love traveling.

The next day, after having had enough with Antigua (it didn't take long), we booked a bus out to see one of the "New Seven Wonders of the World", the lost Mayan ruins of Tikal--situated in the remote Northeast, jungle-covered corner of Guatemala. Following our long and not so restful nightbus to the closest city, Flores (still about 50 miles away), we opted for camping at the ruins themselves. For some reason if you purchase your ticket after 4 pm you can visit the ruins that night and the following morning. The only catch is that you are pretty much stuck at Tikal after dark and are forced to camp. Oh, and you have to kill a day waiting for 4 pm in a jungle/swamp since the local bus dropped us off at 10am.

But it was worth it! All of the tourists are gone at night and in the morning, leaving the entire place to myself. Which perhaps wasn't the greatest idea after all. You see, Tikal was, in it's prime, a city of 100,000--meaning that the ruins go on forever. And they aren't completely uncovered, either. You have to walk for at least an hour to go from one side of the city to the other following these winding dirt paths that are literally tunnels through the lush jungles of Guatemala. Even in full daylight it's easy to stumble across the most amazing temples and plazas and not even know that they're there until you come around the final bend in the path. You can even climb a few of the temples, which shoot nearly vertically into the sky high above the treetops. At the top of which is the most amazing vista of a few temples peeking out of the canopy in the distance, completely surrounded in a sea of never-ending, verdant jungle. It makes for an amazing sunset and sunrise, too. Especially when the howler moneys start their cacophonous bellowing. Just be sure to bring a flashlight so you can find your way out of the jungle and back to your tent. I'll be sure to do that on my next visit.

Now on to Belize!

Guatemala Week I

In case anyone ever wondered, Central America is where American (and occasionally Canadian) school buses go to die. Fortunately, it is a brightly painted, noisy and busy death (or rebirth?) as the primary mode of public transportation in Guatemala, which are lovingly called, or mutteringly cursed by western travelers: chicken buses. Thusly named because you can bring your happily gobbling livestock with you. By the way, they smell great.

Seeing one in operation is an amazing feat. First you are greeted by the dull rumble of a slightly broken down diesel engine, wildly careening around the corners of the pothole filled mountain roads on nearly bald tires. Then as the chicken bus swings into view you are shocked by the new paint job. Gone is the awful, boring, standard yellow of America; in it's place is a bright, loud and sometimes garish mash of reds, yellows, purples, greens accented with additional decorative lights and topped off with a brand new fog horn capable of warning passengers (and other cars) for miles around of it's imminent arrival. As it rolls up at your feet, a young man hurriedly launches himself out of the door that he had already been hanging mostly out of, scrambles to the top of the bus where he grabs your backpacks that you offer up to him and jams them into any remaining space available on top of the bus. Meanwhile, the bus driver is excitedly ushering you on board the bus that has never really come to a complete halt, gesticulating to you to find a seat in the back somewhere while he throws the bus back into gear, resuming his wild decent.

It's also important to understand that these buses have no true definition of full. Even with the benches packed six across with bags and passengers poking from every crevice, you are expected to find a seat. If not, the porter who has now swung into the bus from on top of the luggage rack while the bus is in motion will gladly point you to a place that you should go--even if there is someone already there. And wherever you finally decide to stand (or sit if you're lucky) be sure to brace yourself adequately as the bus driver's only concern is getting to the next stop as fast as he can. If a truck full of hogs for the market is in the way, he'd better watch out. A school bus can be more than a bit menacing when driven by a half crazed driver on a narrow mountain road. And if you were ever fretting as to where your stolen car radio goes, you can now rest in peace--I've found them. They are haphazardly wired to these whirling masses of motion happily blaring the local polka/tejano-esque music to the crushed chicken bus passengers.

After a long and not so pleasant evening spent hopping on and off chicken buses from the border of Mexico, we finally arrive in the peaceful mountain Town of Quetzaltenango, called Xela (She-la) by the locals. The only downside of this little town is that it's the coldest place in Guatemala. Which is a bit frustrating to me, since one of my ideas for this trip was to avoid winter for a year--not end up in a place consistently colder than Texas.

However, Xela does boast of some fantastic hiking opportunities which we happily partook of . After a couple of weeks wandering around colonial towns of Mexico, it was truly wonderful to break up the monotony of seeing city after city and to be able to stretch our legs over a few mountain peaks. But first we had to relax and decompress a bit. And what better way to do that than to visit the nearby natural hot springs of Fuentes Georginas? Ahhh... Almost like good Japanese Onsen. Piping hot and incredibly relaxing. Just perfect after a grueling day of buses.

The first peak that we tackled bright and early the next morning was a little one called Santa Maria that overlooked Xela. But the true reason for hiking this one was the views of the active volcano on the other side. After beginning our ascent at 5 in the morning and hiking up through the clouds to the summit we were greeted by the unique and slightly disconcerting sight of a volcano erupting before our eyes. Totally worth freezing my butt off climbing my way up there in the darkness of morning.

And the best part was that our guide had a soccer game to play that afternoon and invited me to tag along since he knew I had played before and loved soccer. So that afternoon, at high altitude, I got to play a game of soccer at a brand new pro soccer stadium in Guatemala on a team with a couple of professional players. Needless to say, I was bit tired that evening--but smiling from ear to ear.

The next day we woke up early at 4 am to catch the bus to our next mountain to climb: Tacamulco, highest volcano in Central America. We had signed up with a large group of trekkers for this trip because the mountain had been closed for the past 9 months due to safety concerns. This was going to be much more challenging climb since we were going to overnight a few hundred feet below the looming peak and ascend at 3:30 am for the sunrise. At first I was not looking forward to another ridiculously early morning, but after watching the sunset that evening near the top of Tacamulco I was stoked.

And rightfully so. Even though I was a human popsicle after waiting for the sun to come up that morning, it was worth it. By far one of the best sunrises I've ever seen; in the distance you could see a volcano erupt next to the rising sun with a cloud covered valley slowly revealing itself below.

Guatemala was off to a great start!

Next up: Much needed Spanish lessons and roasting marshmallows over lava.

Update Now with a few pictures! There're all (wayyyy to many) stored here.

Holding the erruption:














Goofing off during the sunset:














Trish one upping me:













Sunrise in the Morning:














Sunrise with Volcano:












Hiking down after the Sunrise















Me goofing off at the top (note the sadow of the mountain to the left) :

Mexico Part II

In perfect symmetry with the first half of my travels through Mexico, the second half begins with a not-so-wonderful bus tale:

In the bus terminal in Puebla while waiting to board a bus to Oaxaca, I innocently began to eat my breakfast and, naturally, drank some water to stay hydrated--which unfortunately makes me have to pee. Generro, a fellow traveler who is on the same bus as us, assures us that ours will certainly have a toilet on it because “all first (primero) class buses have them” and that I can save my fifty cents (yeah, I'm that cheap when I travel) if I can hold it long enough to avoid using the pay toilets in the terminal.

But of course the bus that we are hurriedly herded into isn't equipped with one. And the bus is, surprisingly, almost on time so it’s leaving really soon and my Spanish is too terrible for me to make a good excuse for a quick escape to the pay toilets inside. So I hunker down into my seat, resigned to the fact that I have to hold it.

For the next 5 hours.

Finally, after managing to relax a bit and when I finally stop concentrating on my bladder, I notice a sharp pain emanating from my knees. As it turns out, it’s being caused by the seat in front of me being jammed into my knees. If you thought coach seats in airplanes were cramped, you should try the ones on economy class Mexican buses when they are reclined forcefully into your unsuspecting body. Then, to add to my enjoyment, the child behind me starts to kick my seat. And, finally--to top it all off--as the bus departs from the station and bumps it's way down a road that might as well not be paved, jarring my bladder with every pothole and dip, the child in front of me begins crying. Trish, who has witnessed all of this, is absolutely no help at all and is giggling at my obvious discomfort every time the bus jolted, and chides me for being so cheap as to not pay 50 cents. Next time I'll be sure to pay. It's not worth the torture.

Fortunately, there were no further incidents and Oaxaca turned out to be a really, really good place visit and worth the 5 hours of “fun” that I endured to get there. Oaxaca is home to a variety of interesting things, such as mole sauce (made from chocolate), mezcal (made from God knows what) and a truly wonderful Day of The Dead celebration. We had great timing and managed to get there just as the festivities were really getting started. It’s hard to describe in full but it’s something of a cross between a New Orleans funeral and Halloween—that goes on for four solid days. During the days, the town is festooned with decorations like during Halloween, except in addition there are these elaborate stalls set up in memory of the dearly departed (after all, The Day of the Dead was originally intended to honor/celebrate/mourn the dead). The stalls come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, from the truly grand, complete with symbolic pictures drawn with multi-colored sand surrounded by the dearly departed’s favorite food and booze for their trip to the afterlife, to stalls created by the Boy Scouts of America that are surrounded by skulls that look strikingly realistic. I must have missed the skull collecting merit badge when I was a scout.

In the street every night near the central park there were bands marching through the streets playing New Orleans style, Dixie-themed marches, crossed with traditional Mexican tunes (they actually sounded pretty good). Costumed revellers followed shortly behind the musicians and behind them children spread out like ants at a picnic asking for candy from everyone that happened to be watching the parade. And then there were fireworks and free shots of mezcal and food. It was a carnival atmosphere early in the evening and if we wished to join in, the bars and clubs were packed by costumed partiers late into the night. All of which started to blur together after a few too many shots of free mezcal.

Also, when we travelled out into the smaller outlying towns, the traditions were even more interesting. Some locals spent literally the entire year making their costumes which could be extremely elaborate and in some cases topped off with torches, open flames or intestines. And then the townspeople would march behind a local band (much like the ones in downtown Oaxaca) to all the cemeteries--stopping inside to dance until the revellers were too tired to stand. Then, after a few moments of rest they would get up and parade to the next cemetery while another group would poor into the recently emptied graveyard. I wish American Halloween would last for four days. It’s sad that we only get one evening, but I was certainly tired after all the parties and events.

After thoroughly enjoying the Day of the Dead Celebration in Oaxaca, there were only a few more traditions to partake of before we left Mexico: seeing some Mayan ruins, trying the local brew and, of course, getting sick. Trish was more than happy to help out with the second of those three when she found a local street vendor in some nearby town that was selling home-made mezcal bottled in used coke bottles and flavored with some plant that we never quite identified. As we both took shots straight from the bottle praying that we didn't go blind, Trish, proud of her find, exclaimed, "It may smell like paint thinner but it tastes slightly better!" Yum!

The ruins were also easy to find, since it was a short bus ride to a mountain overlooking the Oaxcan valley, and they were quite worth the time to get there. This was my first run in with Mayan Ruins so I had fun scrambling up and down the temples while chasing down the local lizards. It also made for some fun photo opportunities.

That left only my favorite part of every trip to Mexico: a run in with a local parasite. Hooray for projectile vomit and liquefied bowels for the evening! (I'll spare you all the gory details--it wasn't fun) And after that I was pretty much done with Mexico.

I came, saw everything that I was interested in seeing and was still alive in the end. Not a bad first couple of weeks!

Now on to Guatemala for volcano climbing and cheap Spanish lessons. Stay tuned!

Mexico part I

And so the journey begins! ...with a 34 hour bus ride...sigh...

In case you were wondering, that's NOT my favorite way to start a trip. As a 6'4" guy, it's just a little bit difficult to get comfortable in a Greyhound chair. Add in a couple of transfers, the border crossing, the Mexican police stopping my bus and demanding a bribe (I didn't pay), my lovely smelling bus mates and my adventure was off to a wonderful start!

Fortunately, things got better in a hurry. The bus pulled into Mexico City just before rush hour and I gratefully stretched my legs and found the nearest restroom. From there I managed to hop on the subway to the south side of town, and found my hostel where Trish (my travel buddy) was tiredly lounging in the lobby, making friends with a cheerful South Korean girl. After a long nights rest and recovery we were able to meet up with our Couchsurfing host, Cesar, and explored the artistic community that our hostel was located in. As it turned out, the Frida Kahlo museum was just a few blocks away, providing ample distraction for the morning. Well, that and some delicious food in the local market. The freshly made tortas and the local Aztec drink indigenous to there were wonderful!

We then travelled to Toluca, where Cesar and his family lived--about 30-45 minutes west of Mexico City. I have to say, I love staying with locals. They show you all the cool places in town that you'd never find on your own and also all the things that aren't ever going to make it into the guidebooks. Like the cool little cantina that has this special drink that is made from 23 cacti and is bright, neon green and will mess you up in a hurry. Apparently the lead singer of some 80s Mexican pop group didn't get the message, but he did manage to serenade Cesar's fiancée in the middle of the cantina rather well. It made for an entertaining evening if nothing else.

After hanging out with Cesar and his British fiancée for a few more days, seeing the results from candy skull decorating contest and meandering about Mexico City, we were ready to move on. Mexico City, in my opinion, is just not nice place. It has some cool things to see--like the famous murals and some interesting culture--but it's ridiculously huge (22 million or so), heavily polluted, crowded, and the traffic is terrible. Maybe it was just bad luck, but one of our busses got into a wreck and I got hit by a guy on a motor scooter. Fun times!

The next city, Puebla, was much better. Not because of the town (it was a tourist trap) but because of the cool people that we met there. You meet all kinds while travelling in hostels. I couldn't even begin to guess at Generro's age, but he was little older than me and lot crazier. He had just spent the last couple of day s wandering around the Mexican countryside hunting for a witch doctor so he could experience one of their ceremonies firsthand. I am happy to report that after spending an afternoon getting lost in a dusty Mexican town, being coated in some foul smelling cologne mixed with egg and applied with branches, he is now cured of his "Evil Eye" curse. One of the other hostel goers we met was an Israeli engineer/mathematician who had been vacationing for a few weeks and was, like us, just looking for some company for the night. We were all hungry, so exploring the town for some good, cheap food was in order. Of course the place that was recommended to us was closed, but we managed to stumble across a wonderful little diner that tried very hard to convince us that its bread wasn’t stale. It was just specially made that way, you see. Got to love the things they say to tourists.

Since all the good places to eat apparently close early and we weren’t in the mood for bed after we finished, we went exploring for a cantina to kill the evening at. The first place we found was empty save for two guys playing speed chess. Our two companions immediately decided that this was ample reason to go inside. A few moments later after I spotted the tattoo of a bishop on Generro’s forearm while he was repositioning his rook, I understood why. The man loves his chess. He even goes to chess tournaments and, just for fun, dresses like characters from The Big Lebowski and thrashes his opponents while getting hammered on white russians. Good times, so I’m told. But the evening was actually quite entertaining because the two Mexican bartenders were very, very good. Neither of the guys we were with won a game and I knew better than to jump in on speed chess with only five minutes on the clock.

It definitely wasn’t an evening that I had anticipated ever having in Mexico, which is why travelling can be so much fun at times. You never know what is going to happen to you. I mean how often do you end up in a bar with guys from four different countries playing speed chess over beers? It’s a random life and it’s fun to enjoy it!

More to come folks, this is just the beginning… And I swear I’m going to figure out how to add photos to this thing someday!

If you’d like to see the early results (and it has pictures!), Trish’s version of the events are here : http://www.travelblog.org/North-America/Mexico/blog-340128.html

Taking All Bettors!

In preparation for this crazy, haphazardly planned, seven-month adventure through Central and South America that I'm about to take off on, I began creating a list of things likely to occur so I could prepare and equip myself properly. I figured that instead of just posting a laundry list of all the things I might need or possible calamities that could befall me, it would be a lot more fun to take bets on these things. Plus I like the idea of being able to collect a few dollars when I return to the US flat broke!

For all of you unfamiliar with the betting process, this type of betting is called over/under. I'll post a possible event, like getting sick, being eaten by a shark or (more pleasantly) falling in love. Then I'll post a number afterwards the represents my fair guess at how many times this even is likely to occur. You simply pick "over" if you think this even will occur to me more than that number, or "under" if you think that it will will occur less that that number. If you guess over or under correctly, then you win! I'll be betting against whatever you pick, and I'll try to pay up as best I can when I get home.

Feel free to be creative in your bets and methods of payment, and feel free to post any events or items that I leave out. Good luck! And most importantly, have fun with this :o)

• Countries Visited - 16
  
• Meals Served With Insects - 2
  
• Pounds Lost - 15
  
• Bizarre, Smelly Hostel Roommates - 1000
• Bus Rides With Insane Drivers on One Lane Mountain Roads - 18
• Beaches slept on - 5
  
• Mountains Summited by Foot- 4
• Liters of Alcohol Consumed - 40 (I pray the locals don't drink as much as the Russians do!)
  
• Couches Slept on Through Couchsurfing.com - 20
• Ridiculous, Jaw-dropping Vistas - 300
  
• Eaten by a Shark - let's not go there...
  
• Times Sick - 3
• Waking Up in a Tent With Three Inches of Water Underneath You, and Then Running Through the Rain for Miles With a 45 lb Backpack to Catch a Bus that Leaves at 8am - oh wait, already did this one...
  
• Miles Hitchhiked - 500
• Crazy Border Guards Who Demand Bribes...or Else... - 4
  
• Pickpocketed - 2
• Bus Terminals Slept in With Other Homeless People- 6
  
• Blog Posts - 15
• Everything Stolen - 1
• Calling to Beg For a Parent Subsidized Plane Ticket Back Home - .5
  
• Falling in Love (why not?) - .5
  

I'm excited already!