All that Jazz

Spot the frisbee
















A ¨No Jazz Zone¨

Another cool cat


On Saturday the 21st of January 2006 David, Lotta (USA, Sweden) and I headed to the old part of Panama City where the Panama Jazz Festival was being held. Set amongst gutted and crumbling buildings reminiscent of film sets with only facades remaining, jazz played. A small crowd early in the day stood drinking Nicaraguan rum and talking about life, politics and soccer. The jazz also spoke of such things. We stayed for a few hours that afternoon sweating in the still heat of Panama’s old city, but later returned to the hostel for a nap, for tonight was the main attraction.

We went back after sundown to see a big band close the festival with a stunning extended set of uplifting Latin Jazz. The focus shifted to and from each of the key members, each doing their part to capture the spirit of Latin America with trumpet, vibraphone, voice or drum. We danced and sung with locals, and when the party was over we danced and sung some more at a bar inside one of the aforementioned buildings. An Argentinean had setup an impromptu jazz bar inside an abandoned building near to Noriega´s bombed house.

There was no roof. The perfect place to be on a hot night in Central America. The band played a set of minimal jazz, peppered with Radiohead and other tasteful covers. Daniel will never forget hearing Karma Police staring into the Panamanian sky, rum in hand on his penultimate day as a 23 year old.

I was in a happy place, but it was time to move on and see some more of Panama. I travelled to Boquete in the Northern Hhighlands. Built at the base of Volcano Baru (3475m), this cute mountain town is known for its flowers and coffee. I sat in the cool mountain air gathering my thoughts and sipping wine to celebrate my birthday.

I had intended to hike to the top of the volcano, however for a few reasons it was not possible. Along with you, I will just have to imagine what it is like to be atop a volcano at sunrise looking left to the Pacific ocean right to the Caribbean sea.

I did however do a 7km loop around the small Pueblo´s in the area. I had to hurry the hike so as not to miss the bus back. I covered the hike in about an hour, and was rewarded with a coffee made fresh from beans from the plantations I had been walking through. Best coffee yet.

The following day I started my three country traverse to meet my wonderful friend Eliot Golstone in Nicaragua.

Here is a map if you need to get your bearings. Boquete is near David.

Not many interesting stories here, except that as I crossed from Costa Rica to Nicaragua I saw a truck driver shake hands with a customs official. The shake of hands was merely a means of passing over 50 American dollars in exchange for a blind eye.

I arrived at San Juan del Sur, a small gring town near Lago de Nicaragua on the Pacific Coast. Eliot and I had organised to meet at the first internet café listed in the lonely Planet guide. Upon arrival, I was told that that internet café no longer existed. I went to the next one, found an email that Eliot had written only minutes prior telling me he had a room at a little place called Casa del Playa 28.

Where was Casa del Playa 28? Directly across the road. I picked up my backpack and went inside the hospedaje. I called out ¨El?¨ Eliot ran out of the communal shower in a small white towel and we hugged.

That night we talked Australian, the first time in a while for both of us. We drank beer on the beach and spoke stories happy and sad. That night we went to a little fiesta at a restaurant with some friends we had made in the town. The fiesta had a DJ! We drunk and danced to crappy Latin pop and ten year old commercial dance and r&b. It was fun, kind of. I have one CD with me on the trip. I approached the DJ booth (cardboard box on a chair) and asked the DJ Menni if he would let me fool around. I put the CD in the player, put on the headphones and went to work. DJ Menni´s anxieties were eased when it was clear that I knew how to operate a mixer. DJ Menni and I went one for one for a little. The Latin version of Beat It went down a treat.

We woke the following morning and rode In the back of a ute to Playa Madera just a little North. We then waltzed along the beach for about 10 minutes to Playa Matilda with our packs and some supplies where we have spent the last three days.

There isn’t really much to share about the last three days. Reading, swimming and eating.

Tomorrow Eliot and I will make our way to Isla Solentiname, an archipelago of islands on the eastern end of Lago Nicaragua.


http://www.infoplease.com/images/mapcentralamerica.gif

Click above for a neat little map of Cental America

Panamanian tale

Last time we spoke I was with Brian in Costa Rica about to get some food.

Brian hastily left for home, I am once again a lone sailor.

I set sail for the southern Costa Rican border with Panama- by bus. It had been raining for a few days now. As I travelled inland toward the border crossing I realised that the rain had, in addition to making my Carribean holiday wet, flooded the locals. The rivers had swelled at a time when rain this heavy is not expected. Although it is the dry season, the region often experiences heavy falls near full moon. The bus passed flooded farms, flooded animals, flooded open sewers. I saw children wading to their front doors waist deep in grey water. My week was rain affected, but their life was.

I was listening to Johnny Cash when the bus stopped.

The river had completely covered a section of road about 50m wide. The water was flowing, but not at a rate that made it unsafe to cross by foot.I asked the driver how far it was to the border, he said about a kilometre. Whilst the other whiteys on the bus sat waiting for the waters to miraculously part, I followed the ticos to the waters edge and removed my pants, took off my backpack and held it. If I fell I did not want to a 15kg burden.

It was still raining heavily, and as I crossed I felt like a hero. Sad I know, but it is these moments of quasi-achievement that punctuate my trips.

The border crossing down the road was far less challenging. After crossing I travelled to Bocas del Torro, a booming Venice-esque town on a archipelago of islands. Physically beautiful, in recent years it has become very expensive. Real estate in Bocas and sorrounding islands has become the new destination for wealthy foreigners seeking sun and capital appreciation.

The ride through the disused banana canals to the island was memorable, think Apocalypse now minus Marlon and Charlie. Add Daniel and Francois, my new French-Canadian friend with whom I shared an overpriced under kept room.

I spent three nights in Bocas del Torro. Snorkeling, eating seafood, drinking beer swimming and flirting with frogs (little red ones, see below).

Now, I am in Panama City wjher I will spend a couple more days.

Some of you may know my Nana. When Ilse immigrated to Australia more than 50 years ago she came on a boat through the Panama Canal. This morning I went to pay a visit.

Standing on the observation deck above the Miraflores locks on the pacific side it was very cool knowing that Nana had been here. Very cool.

Get your exercise books out.

The Canal is 80km long, it takes most ships 8-10 hours to complete the passage, however including waiting periods ships are usually in transit for 24 hours.

The Canal makes use of existing rivers and wetlands that have been further flooded and deepened to create a passage through the isthmus. Some sections, up to 13km long have been completely cut from solid rock. The project was first envisioned by King Charles V Of Spain in 1534, twenty four years after Christoper Columbus arrived in Panama. The task itself was begun by the French in 1880 but remained unfinished until the Americans bought the rights for $40million in 1904. Ten years later, after thousands of slaves had died, the Canal was finished.

Although primarily Jamaican slaves, some came from Europe, the Americas and of course, Africa. This afternoon I walked into an air-conditioned lobby of an expensive hotel. I asked the man behind the desk where a barber is. He had a creole accent. I asked him where he was from. He told me that his grandfather had 'come' to Panama from Jamaica to work on the Canal where he died of yellow fever, a common fate. We shook hands, he said "Yo bi avin a good trip in di world bra." I then went and had a shave and a haircut for five bucks.

Tomorrow there is a Jazz Festival in the old city. Cannot wait. Will report back to base.

Thanks for tuning in, or out.

Here are a couple if Panamanian cats.

Red Frog Beach

The rainy day on Red Frog beach in Panama turned out okay.

Costa Rica in pixels

Yes, I know.















...and cleaner
















Thomas & I, Brian & Thomas.

The rich coast

Costa Rica, or Rich Coast, is.The greenback has penetrated this place. I am sure that it is difficult for locals to get by in the towns that have become tourist destinations.Both the prices and the tourists are high, which makes my experience here a little less pure. However, it does give me the opportunity to reflect on the sad state of the world. WAIT WAIT WAIT. I am not saying that tourism is an evil. It has benefits of course. Nor am I saying that pot-smoking, cashed up Germans and Americans with henna tattoos and linen pants are indicators toward the end of the world. I am just being bitter, it makes for more interesting reading.Now for the sweet contrast.

I have met a young Filmmaker from NYC. Brian, or Woody Allen as our Argentine friend aptly branded him, and I travelled the same route as I had the year before. San Jose to Manzanillo on the Caribbean coast. As we neared the lush east coast the palms became lower and broader. I recalled seeing that river. I recalled seeing that town. I am almost certain that same dog barked at the bus in the same way last year.

The unfinished cabinas in which David and I stayed at last time were now, making them unaffordable for us.Brian and I found a cheaper place to stay. We had some rice and beans, and went for a swim. No doubt I will say this over and over, but there is something healing about being in the ocean. All of my negative feelings were [cliche alert] washed away [end cliche alert].
Brian shares the same sense of humour, and tragedy as me. Although he is a little more tragic – not a bad thing if your are reading this mate. Early on I asked him which is his favorite TV show. Many of you have, at this point guessed what he said. Correct. Curb Your Enthusiasm. I found it difficult to curb mine when he said that.

We also put Miles' Kind of Blue in our top 5 albums. However, he chose the White Album whilst I prefer a stroll down Abbey Road.

Travelling with Brian has been a welcome vacation from the vacationers. In addition, it has allowed me to get in touch with my inner New Yorker and view him in third person. When I travel, my inner New Yorker takes a back seat. I become less manic, more logical and also, more tolerant of unpleasant situations. WAIT WAIT WAIT. I am not saying that everyone in New York is manic, illogical or intolerant. Rather, my inner New Yorker – a behavioural amalgam of Larry David and John McEnroe – is.

After we sorted out some of Brian's crises the rest of the afternoon was spent strolling up and down the beach people watching and playing frisbee with local kids, who later tried to steal my frisbee. I broke one of their arms. Shouldn't have that problem again. At night there was only one thing on my mind. Last year, David and I had feasted night after night on sopa de mariscos (seafood soup) from the only restaurant in the town.The waiter must have noted our strange obsession. Raymond actually remembered me. I was not disappointed. Last night, it rained. this morning it is still raining. Apparently, on full moons it rains for a few days. I am sitting in a tiled internet cafe - flooded. The young girl that works here is doing a good job mopping it up, as this rich Australian sits by and types.

Off to get some food,

Daniel

Just a few couple of LA photos for you cats

Jose y los pussygatos

Buenos insert timestamp here,

I am in San Jose, Costa Rica.The Qantas lady at check in in Melbourne last week called it San Josie, as in, "....and the Pussycats". It is pronounced San-ho-say.It just may be, that in the future the pronunciation will change as "Ticos" pander to the requirements of cashed up American tourists. And Australian tourists. Except me, of course. Costa Rica has been a country of convenience thus far. I got my Brazilian visa. I got over my jet lag and got my feet.

Tomorrow I head to the Caribbean coast where I will spend a few days reading and eating seafood. From there I will Cross the Southern border into Panama for about 10 days. The bus leaves tomorrow morning at 6am, which will be difficult.

I have, to be honest, been a little lonely since arriving in Costa Rica. When I arrived I did not realise how jet-lagged I actually was. I was probably not being my friendly self, the primary cause for my loneliness. It was not a nice feeling, particularly when I knew that I would be, in the main, by myself for the next 6 months or so.

One good sleep later I am back to normal.

Getting my Brazilian visa was fun. I went to the Embassy yesterday, but the ambassador was in hospital. Depression was the reason I was given.

I again today. I am pretty sure that Snr Sergio was over his depression. Sixty-five years old maybe, white hair, white eyebrow, tanned and quite short. In fact, just think Brazilian Bob Hawke. He was being friendly to the extent that if I had not left before he had a chance to, he would have asked me out for a romantic dinner of fried chicken, beans and rice.

This afternoon I just piss farted around.

I look forward to the next leg of my trip. I will hopefully have some more exciting tales for you.

Right now, I am quite over hostel life.

Hasta sometime later,

Daniel

I will be brief, but not short.

I am sitting in the Qantas club in LA Airport. Not a member.

Had a chat to the Marketing Director of NBC, John XXXX, in the line for the baggage scan. He went through first and I saw him enter the Qantas club. I followed. Not a weird close follow, but a "follow that cab" follow. I approached the desk and said "I am not a member here, buit I am a nice Australian who would like to use the internet to email his family and closest friends." John was already in the hallway to heaven but overheard me. He about-faced and invited me in with his guest card. How sweet.

The icing on the cake: As I walked away, the lady behind the counter said to me, "I would have let you in anyway, Daniel."

The lollies on the icing: I get to tell you this whilst it is still fresh.

John gave me his email also. Might have to see if I can blag my way in to a job at NBC as well as I blagged my way in here.

Lots of bums in Venice beach. A bum is an American colloquialism for a homeless person. Also lots of palm trees. I pretty much just hired a bike both days and rode around looking at shit and talking to strangers.

The food here is terrible. Really terrible. I am not an accomplished writer enough to describe how terrible.

Three celebrity spottings.

1- Steven Wright
2- The Rock
3- George Hincapie

I am off to Costa Rica in one hour. Very excited.

Enjoy these photos. Print it out in A3 and print the word "CALIFORNIA" on the bottom. Stare, and dream your dream.

With love etc,

Daniel

Leaving soon...

I hope the festive season has brought many laughs and little heat stroke.

I leave for an overseas trip next Tuesday the 12th.

I would love to see you all before I go.

If you are able to please pop in to Der Raum this Friday the 6th for a drink and a laugh after 8pm.

Later in the night I will be playing a few records if you feel like hanging around to heckle me.

Hope to see your smiling face,

Dan


Der Raum is an award winning cocktail bar on Church Street in Richmond near the corner of Swan Street. It is small and hard to find. Look for the Holsten sign.