Capn's Blog

[CapnAwesome]

Capn's blog, This is the true story of me and my friend Dan Hitchhiking from Las Vegas to Southern Argentina in 2011-12

Early December 2011
The Richest Man in El Salvador

The Richest Man in El Salvador

     We left Cathy and Sterling, wished them well and set out in El Salvador on our own.

      “What do you think the chances are that we beat Cathy and Sterling to Panama?” Dan asked me.

    A small truck pulled over for us. “Looking pretty good.”
We jumped in the back, were driven to the next town dropped off with a smile and wave and almost immediately was picked up again in another little truck. We flew through the country and by midday we were at the Honduras border. (check a map) A quick 5 dollar bus ride took us through the small part of Honduras on the west coast and by afternoon we were entering our third country of the day. It’s safe to say El Salvador was the easiest country to hitchhike in that I’d ever been in.

    In fact it was an El Salvadorian who gave us our first ride in Nicaragua too. We nicknamed him ‘the richest man in El Salvador. What he was doing in Nicaragua was simply ‘business’ and he said he was an import/exporter. We didn’t know exactly what that meant and didn’t ask any further questions. The Richest in El Salvador traveled in style, in a brand new giant American pick up, a driver, a body guard and in the back of the truck, an elliptical machine. He spoke a little bit of english, but most of the conversation carried on in Spanish, I could only understand a little and Dan would translate on occasion.
He explained the elliptical machine, “I like to work out at Hotels.”

    The Richest Man in El Salvador did not look much like he worked out at all. He was portly and middle aged, tall, huge for an El Salvadorian. He explained the body guard.

    “You can never be too careful in El Salvador. I was kidnapped once for 6 months, my wife was kidnapped too, that was a different time.”
We inquired if Nicaragua was a dangerous country.

   “There is no crime in Nicaragua.” He declared. Perhaps compared to El Salvador that was true.
Pretty soon on our trip we were stopping for lunch, and the Richest man in El Salvador was buying all our food and a round of drinks for everyone, including his body guard and driver. We were on the road again and in the next town, we stopped for drinks again.

“In El Salvador, we drink until we fall down.”

    Indeed that might have been the case, but Dan and I just drank until we were mildly buzzed. We drove to the Nicaraguan Capital with them that way. Suddenly Dan asked them to stop, they stopped and we got out.
I asked Dan about the sudden stop.

    “Ah man, they were just starting to say some weird shit, about having me sign some papers or something like that.”

    It was not the last time I was happy to have Dan with me on the trip. It was always our policy to be suspicious, and the driver had perhaps had a drink too many, though we were in the largest vehicle in Nicaragua. We jumped on a 30 cent bus to a smaller city, near the edge of the Capital City. It was getting dark and we decided to look for a place to bivy. Bivying on the edge of a large city was not ideal. We stopped in a small square. There was an old grizzled looking man sitting by the still fountain. Children were running unsupervised through the streets and most peoples doors were unlocked or just left open. Our previous rides words echoed in my head. There is no crime in Nicaragua.

    Just then the old man by the fountain took an empty water bottle in his hand, filled it up in the still, garbage filled water in the town fountain and took a drink. Dan had seen also. Holy shit, that is some third world shit right there.

    We walked a little further and sudden there was a small field with some trees and hedges. It was secluded and we were confident no one would bother us there if they’d even see us. We curled under a hedge and went to sleep. We were flying through Central America. Costa Rica and Panama awaited and after that was perhaps the crux of our trip, the Darian Gap. The Panamerica highway travels all the way to the southern tip of Chile, from Alaska (It is a combination of highways in the US) except for one 200 mile section in Panama called the Darian Gap. It’s the densest jungle in the world, full of Jaguars, poisonous snakes and the most dangerous of all animals: men. We had to find a way around the Darian to continue our journey.

Me in Nicaragua. That is the Masaya volcano, active in the background. It would erupt the next year.

[CapnAwesome]

Crossing the Darian Gap, Part one.

These are real things that happened to me and my friend Dan in 2011/12 when we hitchhiked from Las Vegas to Patagonia in Southern Argentina.

Mid December, 2011

      The Crux in rock climbing is the hardest move on a route. The crux of our journey was the Darian Gap, the densest jungle in the world. Hiking through the Darian Gap is possible. Post the journey I’ve met two people who have hiked through and head about a girl who did it by herself with just a pop up tent. However none of those people had 30 lbs of climbing gear with them and a time limit.

    One of the reasons that no road has been built there yet is that relationships between Panama and Columbia were poor. Columbia used to own Panama, that was until the US funded an independence movement there so they could build the Panama Canal. There is no official ferry between the two countries so if you want to cross the Darian Gap by sea, you just have to find someone willing to take you.

     It is also a dangerous journey, full of predators and poisonous animals and horrendous bugs. We heard a story of a man who left his boots out at night in the Darian and woke up with them literally filled to the brim with bugs. Our plan involved going to a Port City called Colon in Panama and finding a Cargo ship that was willing to take us. Dan had read a trip report online about people who had done the same thing and it seemed to be the cheapest way across on short notice.

    As we got closer to Panama, people started warning us about Colon, that it was a dangerous place. We had been through many large cities in Central America by this time and though there was clear danger in some, it was nothing that you couldn’t avoid with a little wariness and common sense. So we though we were always alert, we weren’t too worried about this city.

    It was just a couple of days until we in Panama. We got a single ride (from another El Salvadorian) all the way through Costa Rica, not even stopping expect for lunch in the tourist haven country. We beat Cathy and Sterling to Panama by weeks. It was late when we arrived in Panama, and it was raining. They have a saying in Panama. In the rainy season it rains all day and in the dry season it rains everyday.

    Dan asked me how I felt about taking a Bus overnight to Colon. We could sleep on it and arrive by morning, giving us all day to try to find a boat to take us. I agreed to the plan and we hailed down a bus going to Panama City. There Dan slept in the bus station and I stayed awake waiting for the bus. A flamboyantly gay Panamanian came up and started flirting with me in Spanish.

    I told him I didn’t speak Spanish and ignored him for a minute until he started acting weird or high or something. After telling him to get lost loudly a bus security guard came and shooed him away. Eventually the bus to Colon came. Every bus in Panama is the same, used American school buses that are radically spray painted. A cross between street graffiti and something you’d find at Burning Man. Every single one seemed to have at least one image of Jesus and a marijuana leaf. Ours arrived, blaring reggae just like the rest of them. Despite that I got on and immediately fell asleep on it. I awoke with the sun coming up and us arriving at our destination.

     As we shook the sleep our of our eyes and got off of the bus, we immediately realized that we may have made a mistake in coming here. We had gone through dozens of large Mexican cities and all those ones in Central America. Many of them I would describe as dangerous shitholes, but in none of them did we ever feel such an immediate sense of danger. Nothing was quite like Colon. Dan had done two tours in Afghanistan and grew up in Caracus Venezuela. He turned to me.

“This looks sketchy.”

     It looked like the city had been bombed and people were just living in the hollowed out reminisce of a city. 90% of the city were squatting in abandoned industrial buildings, with no electricity or running water.

    One of the first things we saw was a small child steal food from a bus stop food store. The owner, who was Chinese Panamanian, a descendant of those who built the Canal (which ran through Colon.) He immediately started yelling at the child, then left his store to chase him a bit with a knife cursing at him in Spanish and Chinese and grabbing his crotch to accent his curses. The people at the bus stop seemed amused.

     We had other things to worry about. Everybody immediately started staring at us. We were possibly the only two white people in the city and with our giant backpacks stood out like a sore thumb. We had heard about another port city close by called Coco Solo, after one look at Colon we decided maybe that would be a better option. We asked a bus driver where the bus to there was. He told us that they don’t run that bus anymore, because too many people were being robbed on it. Fuck.

“Shit, we are here, lets at least go down to the docks at check it out.”

    We asked the bus driver where the docks were. He looked at us with a little bit of surprise and concern.

“You boy should probably take a taxi.” he advised.

“How far away is it?”

“Six blocks.”

“We don’t want to take a taxi for 6 blocks”

“Okay” he said “Here is what you do, walk down the main street, don’t talk to anybody, don’t trust anybody.”

      We took his advise. The main street had few stores but you could not actually go into any of them. All of them had bars on the doors and windows, even when they were open. If you wanted something it was an exchange like a drug deal, you had me the money and I’ll hand you the tee shirt. There was one bank in town, which consisted of only a single ATM, with two guards in full body armor with machine guns. Everybody, which was mostly tall muscular black men, half of whom had a machete openly dangling from their waste, turned to stare at us. Some with concern and some perhaps sizing us up. There was something of a police presence, but we were not sure that was even a good thing. We had a good security measure, we looked like we didn’t have anything worth stealing. During our whole strip so far we had not shaved. Our gear had tape on it, we were dirty. I had pots and pans hanging off the outside of my pack, hobo style. All of this was intentional. We actually had hundreds of dollars in climbing gear, Dan had an Iphone and I had more than 1500$ hidden in my shoe.

     We got to the docks. It was a long 6 blocks to walk. Outside of the docks a group of men were drinking at an open air bar. It was 8 am. They saluted us with beers in the air. Crazy white people in Colon. Across the street was a tavern with a sign that had a naked white woman painted on it. I got a feeling deep down that people had died in that bar. This was the closest thing that you could get to a pirate town in the 20th century. We went to the docks, again there were armed guards with machine guns there.

     We explained what we were doing there and they let us through, pointing out where a captain was that might take us. We approached the man, a tall thin black man and Dan told him that we were looking for a ride to Columbia. He told us he could take us for 60$ a piece, but that he wasn’t leaving until Sunday. It was Wednesday.

     “Also I can’t take you from here.” He explained to Dan in spanish. “There are rules about passangers and the Canal. I can pick you up from a city La Cieba. I’ll pick you up there on Sunday.”

     The idea of staying in Colon until Sunday was not an appealing one either, so whatever was in La Cieba, it had to be better than this. La Cieba did not show up on google maps for Panama. We walked the long walk back to the bus stop. There was a large man with dreadlocks standing waiting for a bus. He looked friendly compared to many there. We approached him and asked if he knew anything about La Cieba.

“You boys speak English?” He asked in a Jamaican accent. “I think you got to go back to Panama City and hire a 4 wheel drive to take you out there.”

I was dismayed.

“or…….” He continued thinking. “You might be able to get on this bus here, it goes to the last town on the road. Maybe someone there can take you on a boat.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. We hopped on the bus and got the fuck out of Colon.

To be continued…..

Colon (Not my photos, but accurate to much of what we saw)

[CapnAwesome]

I'd love feedback and questions, as these stories will go in my book.

[The Valkyrie]

What's the square root of 161,345,001?

Feedback: great pics.

[DodosAreDead]

This has got to be one of the best things I've ever read, Capn. Can't wait for the next part.
I don't aim to have an entire lifestyle like this, but at some point I want to do some crazy stuff... this is part of my inspiration.

[CapnAwesome]

This has got to be one of the best things I've ever read, Capn. Can't wait for the next part.
I don't aim to have an entire lifestyle like this, but at some point I want to do some crazy stuff... this is part of my inspiration.

Hey, thanks! Yeah it was pretty crazy. I have some other stories that are good too. I hitched 1500 miles in Australia cause I accidentally flew into the wrong city. I biked a tandem bike by myself from Malaga to Barcelona with zero preparationafter one of it's original riders broke his leg climbing. Lots of cool stuff.

I have the next few segments ready to go on this. Just been procrastinating.

[DodosAreDead]

This has got to be one of the best things I've ever read, Capn. Can't wait for the next part.
I don't aim to have an entire lifestyle like this, but at some point I want to do some crazy stuff... this is part of my inspiration.

Hey, thanks! Yeah it was pretty crazy. I have some other stories that are good too. I hitched 1500 miles in Australia cause I accidentally flew into the wrong city. I biked a tandem bike by myself from Malaga to Barcelona with zero preparationafter one of it's original riders broke his leg climbing. Lots of cool stuff.

Looking forward to it. 

Also, @ the ladies in the previous pages talking about period issues, you have got to be kidding me with the tampons thing.

[Little lunch]

I like your stories CA.
Perhaps be a bit more descriptive.
I imagine it'll help thicken your book.
I'll definitely buy one. :-)

[CapnAwesome]

Capn's blog, mid December 2011

This is the real story of how my friend Dan and I hitchhiked from Las Vegas to Patagonia in Southern Argentina. This is about how we got around the Darian Gap, where the road ends in Panama and is replaced by the densest jungle in the world.

Crossing the Darian Gap, part 2.

     We were on the bus, listening to reggae and relieved to be out of that city. The road was a dirt one and a little muddy in spots, but the countryside was a relief to see and we got our first few of the Caribbean sea, clear and beautiful. About two hours into our bus ride we got a surprise when two other white backpackers got on the bus. A guy and a girl. The guy was short, bald with muscular arms a bit of a belly and a nose that looked like it had been broken multiple times. The girl with thin, with light hair and eyes and sandy blonde hair. They saw us and immediately went to the back of the bus where we were sitting.

“Hey, where are you going?” The guy asked, his accent was Eastern European.

    They were from the Czech Republic and were also looking for a way around the Darian Gap. They were nervous cause they had just met and Frenchman who had tried to find a way and failed. They also did not speak any Spanish, so were relying on English. I didn’t think the chances of finding someone who spoke Czech in Panama was very high. We told them about the Cargo ship we had already arranged and how we needed to get to La Cieba. We told them about Colon.

    Pavlic, for that was his name, smirked. “I would not worry about this place. For I have with me mace and asp.”

He pulled out a can of mace and an asp, a metal rod that extended with a lead ball on the end of it. “I can hit a man in the thigh and he passes out with pain, I hit him in the head and he dies. It could be one man or ten men. I spray them with mace, then I hit them with asp.”

They told us they were going to Boliva because that is where the best cocaine is.

     “Not like the shit we have in Europe.”

    Just like that, we were traveling with these people. You truly never know who you are going to end up traveling with on a journey like this. His girlfriend, Elia, was quiet by comparison. She was part girlfriend and also part chaperon. As they hadn’t got to where the cocaine was yet, Pavlic had started drinking rum.

The bus came to a stop and we all got out. The small town that we were in was paradise compared to Colon. Small children ran unattended. The Caribbean was magical. Almost immediately a thing, tan skinned man with high cheek bones came running up to the four of us. Dan started speaking to him in Spanish. I understood what he was asking though.

    “You guys are looking for a way around the Darian Gap? You are going to Columbia?”

    The man owned a launcha, basically a very large speed boat and was taking three Spaniards into Columbia tomorrow morning. He wanted 150$ but was leaving tomorrow morning rather than four days from now. We told him that we already had a deal for 60$.

    “Cargo ships, bah, they’ll take five days, I can get you there in two. 100$ but just for you two, everyone else is paying 150$ don’t tell them you go for cheaper!”

     The Czechs, who were not on a dirtbag budget and were nervous about making the trip at all jumped on the deal and it was done. We saved time, a hassle and were not having to deal with the sketchy crew of the cargo ship and climbing season was coming up, so the sooner we were there, the better.

For the Captain, who actually from Columbia, it was an extra 500$ of money for the same trip he was doing anyway. He and his son, who looked like a carbon copy of him 20 years younger went and introduced us to the other passengers. The Spaniards actually didn’t all know each other before hand. Two of them were a couple, young hippies who were traveling through South America, selling jewlery on the street and juggling as a way to get by as they traveled. The third was a sail boat captain who lived in Columbia and gave sailboat tours through the San Blas Islands, the Island chain that we were going on. He was taking this trip simply to see new routes and possible trips through the Islands. He was tall and dark skinned, with bushy hyper expressive eyebrows.

     We were told that we were leaving at 6 am and that the journey would take but a single day. We learned something about the way Columbians tell time, as we left at 11 am for the first day of a three day journey. We all loaded up on the boat, which just fit the 9 of us. Dan and I looked up and the 5 Europeans had all lit up cigarettes, even though there was multiple canisters of gasoline under the seat they all were on.

Away we went. The waves smashed against the boat for a while and I wondered if it would be this choppy the whole time. We got soaked with the salty water. After ten minutes of violent waves, like magic everything cleared and the Caribbean was as calm as glass and so clear that you could see straight to the bottom of the ocean.

     The San Blas Islands were unreal. Some of them were literally like the Island in the far side comic. A single coconut tree rising out of them. The largest Island had a town of only a few hundred people. The San Blas are populated by a tribal people called the Kuna. They believe they were god’s chosen people and that other people were unclean. As a result some of the Kuna are terrible Xenaphobes, and foreigners are not even allowed on many of their Islands.

Pepe, the middle aged spainard sailboat captain told us that they live by two methods. Fishing and salvaging cocaine. Drug smugglers were get chased by the Panamanian police and dump their cocaine the carribean hoping to come back for it. Sometimes the Kuna would get to it first and then smuggle it onto the black market. They also had all kinds of laws for foreigners that mostly involved fines. The largest fine that you could get would be to sleep with a Kuna woman, which is a 60,000 dollar fine.

     I chuckled thinking about how many Americans glorified tribal cultures, but the Kuna were basically drug dealers and bigots. Despite that most of the people we interacted with were friendly. Including old women in tribal clothes who didn’t speak spanish but rather just their native language. They would come up and ramble to us in their tongue like we understood, but the tone sounded friendly.

     We traveled between Islands. Our captain had a side business delivering chicken to some of these Islands and also even ice cream to a close friend of his. Which was a rare treat, as none of the Kuna villages had any electricity. Just beyond we could see the Darian Gap, the occasional village was on the coast, instead of the speed boats that most Kuna had, these villages largely had dugout canoes and lived similarly to the way people lived there 1000 years before.

After 3 days we arrived in Columbia. We were dirty and disheveled and all 7 of us paid our captain and found a hostel to stay at. It was the next afternoon that Pavlic, our Czech friend approached me.

     “Kevin.” he declared, having been drinking since morning. “Today, me and you, we find cocaine.”

    I was skeptical, Dan and I smoked weed but didn’t do any drugs. “I don’t know if that’s what I want to do.”

     “It’s not problem.” he said, “I know what to do, we go find the dirtiest man in this city, and he knows where cocaine is.”

     I was not thrilled to be part of this plan, to go find the dirtiest man in a colombian port city and try to get drugs out of him. Pavlic did not share my concerns.

“It’s not a problem.” One of his favorite phrases, “If he gives up problem, I spray him with mace and hit him with asp.”

     I declined the offer and instead we started drinking cheap Caribbean rum and went and found the others. The conversation flowed between English and Spanish. The more drunk that Pavlic would get, the worse his English would get. Occasionally when the conversation had been going on in Spanish for a long time he would loudly interject in Czech. Eventually he banged on the table.

     “I am a pirate. I am a hippy, I am lost in the Caribbean.” He banged on the table drunkenly again. “Respect me!”

     His girlfriend dragged him, stumbling heavily, back to their hotel room and that was the last I saw or heard of the pair. I imagine that they made it to Bolivia and eventually found the cocaine they were looking for. The rest of their trip after that? I can only imagine.

As for Dan and I, we pushed on into Colombia. Taking a quick Ferry ride to Turbo, another city we were warned that it was dangerous and we started our hitch hiking trip again.

San Blas Islands (Not our photos)

[mlmooney89]

I started a new position at work and I don't have time to get online much anymore but I had to stop in real quick to check up on your story. So worth it. I too would buy your book in a heartbeat.