True North – Central America: “Whirlwind!”

Advance Preparations

Episode Two of another epic international tour finally begins.  With a whirlwind.  Unlike my lengthy trip to the far reaches of the southern hemisphere of a bit over a year ago there has been very little time to prepare for this episode.

Despite long-term planning for this journey, the money has only come forward in the last three days, and there has been no time at all to obtain necessary shots, get added pages for my passport, get a new camera or a battery charger for the old one, or do any of the myriad things one must attend to in order to prepare for an extended trip abroad.  I am uncharacteristically unprepared.

As I depart Seattle/Tacoma International Airport on a Sunday morning with less baggage than ever before, I haven’t a clue what is in my backpack and light carry-on.  No idea if what is there is adequate, how many things I’ve forgotten, or where critical items might actually be located.  All I know is TSA always finds my bag worthy of “another look” and routinely pulls me over to the side for a hands-on inspection.  And that I am able to travel much lighter compared to the 85 day sojourn of last year, since current travels don’t include the necessity for cold weather gear for Antarctica.

My objective this time, is to fill in the gaps between the comprehensive map filler of 2011 – which included Antarctica, ALL of South America, Easter Island, and four islands in the Caribbean --  and the home turf territory of the United States, Canada, Hawaii, Alaska, and neighboring Mexico. That leaves us with The Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico – which is very familiar territory, Cuba (offering the allure of forbidden fruit!), Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and finally Panama. 

As I researched potential trip highlights, I am most drawn initially to Cuba for the tenacity of its people and culture despite a 50 year embargo placed against the island by the US government and their odd, lingering fondness for the Fidel Castro led “Revolution” of 1959. Guatemala beckons, for its Mayan temples and profound geography.  And Costa Rica calls, for its draw as the “Switzerland of Central America.”  All in all I will get 45 more days of bliss and discovery and the chance to satisfy an omnipresent curiosity about all things.

What also beckons however, is The Yucatan.  Home of Chichen Itza, the perigee of Mayan civilization and site of a Dec 21^st  celebration commemorating the End of the Mayan Calendar and what is portrayed as the beginning of a new spiritual age on this planet.  Due to Mayan petroglyphs which have been interpreted as predicting the so-called “End of Time,” many folks will be congregating in 2012 in the Mayan Temples of the former Mayan Empire.  “End of Time” parties and spiritual enclaves in these locations are sprouting thicker than flies at a gypsy wedding.  My desire as I head south, is that this celebration in whatever form it transpires would be far superior to that yearly bacchanalia in Rio de Janeiro that is otherwise known as Carnival.  That was the ultimate disappointment, as far as parties or celebrations or cultural events might go.

My objective for three days blanketing December 21^st and the Winter Solstice is to join my best friend from high school, Craig Murphy and his wife Donna, for a “be in the moment” spiritual observance.  We will simply see what happens.  We have no plans.  Only to be in the now and to be very observant of what occurs and to try to experience the event on a Heart Level, and not with our western-trained and oriented minds.

A slight pall hovers over the journey.  Namely, the passing of my beloved Father in October at age 80.  Without Lawrence Arthur Cenotto IV, the trip might not have been possible.  At least to this extent.  And yet, while we did not specifically discuss visiting Central America, it was the type of trip we were contemplating making together.  I have therefore decided to take his hiking jacket, walking stick, a number of  other personal items and his camera along, so that Dad can vicariously enjoy the trail with me as I pass through Central America on a quest now dedicated in his honor.

I notice before departing Seattle my passport is full.  No more room for additional stamps.  I have the world’s greatest parking karma and unreasonable luck in most things, and figure most challenges can be overcome or talked past. The National Passport Center advises me however, I can be refused boarding at the ticket gate level, or at the arrival gate on any of the destinations I am bound for to travel to -- whether I have previously paid or not.

“Of course, we can have you call them and verify the reception details for each country,” was the helpful reply from the national office.  I couldn’t imagine the wait time, let alone any other distraction.  So two days work – in addition to getting medical shots that now seemed beyond my reach on short notice – to get additional pages for the passport goes for naught.

Finally, while intending to get in a little spiritual re-entry practice time in vortex laden Sedona, I am advised the Tucson office of the National Passport Center will do an overnight passport renewal for me.  Instead of the Red Rocks and spiritual basking of stunning Sedona, it is south two hours and wait in line.  And they double the price for expediting my requests. But the staff there is great.  Methinks they are auditioning for some federal service award role, and go completely out of their way to accommodate my last-minute needs.  This is not the way I am used to seeing the feds operate …

While waiting overnight for the passport to be issued, inquiries are made about a good local Happy Hour bar.  Enter the Kon-Tiki on Broadway.  Built in 1962.  Blessed with original bamboo from the Philippines that would take $1000 per square foot to duplicate today.  Adorned with original characters, all.  Home of the best local complimentary hors d’ oeuvres and greatest lineup of original drinks this side of Singapore.  One couple, Scott & Tina, speak of their pre-60’s cars and an abiding shared interest in travel.

Tina regales those of us at the bar with tales of her Navy days, when new swabbies would be hazed upon crossing the equator during a grueling 8-hour initiation rite.  The type of humiliation  not allowed today.  She described an endurance ordeal of  wearing clothes inside out, denied shoes, being plastered with grease and peanut butter, being forced to crawl about the ship on all fours, performing fawning menial tasks, licking jelly beans out of the lint-encrusted belly button of a 400 pound hirsute gunnery mate, and eating swill from a communal bucket.  I’m just glad I signed up for 36 hour days in the forestry service at that age instead …

Picking up the passport after a day of preparation, the to-do list never ends.  Buy camera attachments.  Empathize with horror stories from Cancun of hotel reservations (with confirmation and down payment ignominiously ignored) suddenly being jerked from friends and sold to the highest bidder.  Buy travel insurance.  Make sure my phone will take international calls and texts from all nine countries along the travel path.  Similarly, inform the banks that are holding my credit cards where I’ll be and to allow both debit and credit transactions without the normal interference or security verification calls.  Somewhere in there, caloric requirements and a growling stomach demand their due.

The evening closes with a light dinner at a local watering hole in Phoenix.  Again, my theory is that the best travel intel is obtained at bars.  Sometimes the best war stories.  And usually the best bullshit.  The “share this tripe at cocktail parties” variety, that everybody can moderate and pass on in ever expanding circles.  Got to listen to a bloke named Matt, speak about his best friend crossing over the Iron Curtain in the 60’s after getting an impossible-to-obtain visa from a friend who dated a gal at the Russian Embassy.  His aim was to dispense Hippie Culture in Russia.  And introduce Western capitalism.

The friend drove a flower festooned Volkswagen camper from Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin to Red Square in Moscow, and openly sold Playboy magazines and Beatle records opposite the GUM Department Store in Red Square.  He took the substantial profits, and graduated from there to transiting the Straits of Gibraltar in Spain to sell alcohol in dry Muslim African countries.  All this before détente, and modern visa arrangements.  As they say, Cheeky Lad, that.

And with that, I am off.  Have an early wakeup at 3:30 for a 6 AM flight to Cancun and the prelude to the first (hopefully among many) of the “End of Time” parties.