Impailed by a sting ray while filming the “Ocean’s Deadliest,” Steve Irwin certainly takes the cake for creative ways to die prematurely. Really, what else is there for us boring citizens whose jobs don’t regularly involve exotic, killer animals? Though it might not make the top ten, we may have found a contender in Leon, Nicaragua.

While traveling Nicaragua in 2005, an Australian who grew up sandboarding happened upon an idea for a new sport. While looking at the Cerro Negro volcano he saw potential for something brand-new: volcano boarding. Of course it was a boy who came up with this! The premise is quite simple. You hike up the world’s largest cindercone volcano, which is still active. You then plop onto a piece of plywood resembling a sled. And off you go.

The reality is slightly less clean cut. Our guide kindly provided jumpsuits and goggles for our protection. The resemblance to the orange clad inmates picking up litter on the highway was just too similar. We had to ask. Our leader didn’t really know where the outfits had been found, but admitted to the possibility that they were jail mate hand-me-downs. Excellent.

We were explained the basics. Sit up straight. Goggles on at all times and mouth closed as protection from flying rocks. Breaking and steering are up to your feet. The trick is to find balance while tapping your feet and not going to fast or too slow. “By the way,” our guide adds, “there’s a guy with a radar gun at the bottom and you only have one shot at this. People usually tell me they wish they had gone faster.” The record breaking volcano boarder reached speeds of over 50 miles/hour (also a boy). I was not worried about going too slow!

Truth be told, nobody has sustained any “major” injuries with this company while volcano boarding. Your biggest risk is gravel rash from falling. While looking down the face of the volcano, however, this fact is only marginally comforting. More comforting was the knowledge that if by some stroke of rotten luck I managed to be the first fatality that my gravestone would be interesting. ‘Here lies Jenna. First girl to off-herself while sledding a volcano. May she be remembered for her creativity.’

After watching two brave souls go first, we were up. Situated a few feet apart from eachother, Whit and I exchanged glances. If this is the end, it’s been great. We needed a little encouragement, “The hardest part is picking up your feet and starting. After that it’s easy.” Uh huh. So off we went down the 1,300 foot side of a volcano. Letting out a quick scream, a small rock and volcanic sand immediately found their way into my mouth. Lips firmly closed the rest of the way down, I tapped my brakes and stayed upright as rocks pelted my goggles and filled my shoes.

At the bottom one look at eachother’s dirty, blackened faces had us laughing. My speed was clocked at a wimpy 32km/hour (about 20mph). I barely beat out Whitney’s 31km/hour, which was enough victory for me. Cold beers were opened from the back of a pick-up on the way back to town. We all excitedly compared stories and congratulated ourselves for surviving.

After our adventure on the cocaine night bus, we decided it was time to lay low and, perhaps, even leave our life of crime behind completely. So we officially became backpacking beach bums. First it was off to Utila, one of the Bay Islands of Honduras nestled 18 miles offshore in the Caribbean Sea. Filled with hippies and dive obsessed foreigners from all corners of the world, it was the perfect place for Whit to take the plunge and get her Open Water Dive Certification. Since I’m already dive certified and an invalid (see broken eardrum post) I got a head start on being a beach bum. I slept in late(ish). I read. I excessively laid in hammocks, alternating appropriately with poolside and beachside laying. On one lovely day I tagged along with Whit’s dive group for some free snorkeling. Before hopping into the water I met the two other snorkelers going with me. Both guys were also dive school rejects with broken ears. We had a 2-minute pity party and spend the rest of the day swimming and sunning.

Roatán, the largest of the Bay Islands was our next beach bum stop. Whitney’s cousin (a darling Montessori teacher) met her husband (an adorable ex-dolphin trainer turned vet) while on the island. They fell in love, married and now have 2 of the cutest little blonde girls you can find. Their story is just too perfect, isn’t it? They were kind enough to let us couch surf for a few days while on the island.

For two scrubby backpackers, the cousin’s provided us heaven. No more shared dorms. No more random Aussie roommate that think Americans such as myself are a little daft because we don’t understand their accent (For my credit, they have some really crazy phrases for normal things). Hot water showers. Laundry. Internet. Best of all, a sense of family and homey-ness that we haven’t had since February. My favorite night: eating homemade pizza, popcorn and watching a bootlegged version of Alice in Wonderland while the girls played around us.

I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but there’s more. Baird let us tag along with him to work. This might not sound like fun unless you know that he’s the vet on the small Maya Key off of Roatán for rescued animals. They have parrots, toucans, nurse sharks, sting rays, an ocelot, monkeys and a very smelly anteater. Feeding the four friendly howler monkeys, one of which is awesomely named ‘tater tot’ was a memory neither of us will soon forget. They climbed all over us, hung by their tails from trees next to us and generally made a huge mess during the feeding frenzy.

Warning: this post is long, much longer than normal (but oh so very worth it!)

After many hot, sweaty days on the beaches of El Salvador we hit the road again. San Salvador, for being a capital city, was actually really enjoyable. We walked around for a couple of hours then caught our evening/night bus to San Pedro Sula, Honduras. This is where the fun starts. San Pedro Sula’s reputation as a gang and crime ridden place for clean-cut white girls to avoid preceded it. The ”murder capital of the world,” according to Whitney’s Honduran born cousin. So, needless to say, we were less than thrilled to be arriving at night and obligated spend the night. This being the only feasible travel option, we accepted the fate and headed on our way. Little did we know it was the bus ride over that had to potential for real excitment.

It started like any other bus ride, though more empty than normal. We stuck out conspicuously as the only two foreigners, but this is also typical. A few blocks after leaving the official bus terminal we pulled over and about 8 more passengers filed on. All of them were locals, twenty-something males carrying armfuls of black garbage bags. They proceeded to the far back of the bus and started loading them in and under the seats. As one of the last bags was passing us it caught on an armrest and ripped. The man carrying it walked a few feet before noticing that he was trailing white powder from his cargo. The bag was re-tied and the powder quickly swept up.

At this time I was contemplating a nap and thus not in the mood for Whitney’s elbow in my ribs and her whisper, ”Jenna, what IS that powder? Is it, could it be, cocaine?”

Ok. Let me explain something. Whitney likes to overreact. I then under react and the universe remains in balance. This is one of the many reasons we work well together. So, I did what I do best when she’s being a worry-wart; with complete certainty, in a calming voice, I say the exact opposite of whatever she is fretting about.

”No, of course not! You’re being crazy”

“Are you sure?”

“It can’t be. They wouldn’t be so obvious if it were drugs.”

“But it’s white powder. Isn’t cocaine white powder?”

“Yea, I think so. But that’s not it. Stop being paranoid.”

Conversation over. I moved seats to fully stretch out for my nap which, incidentally, had two of the black bags stuffed under them. Whitney suggested that I not sit directly over them, just in case the drug dogs came by to sniff our bus and attacked me. Shushing her, I moved anyway. Whit popped in headphones and continued to suspiciously eye the traces of white that still lined the aisle after the sweep-up attempt.

The ride continued uneventfully until a five minute warning from the driver alerted us that we were approaching the El Salvador-Honduran border. At this point I really noticed the man in the back guarding the bags. He didn’t sit during the entire 8 hour ride. Instead he hovered in the back, arms over the bags on either side of him. As we neared the border he sprang into action, packing as many bags as possible into the tiny bus’ bathroom. Lacking any actual toilet needs, Whitney innocently questioned the man, “¿Puedo usar el baño?” He told her not until after the border. A little slow to jump on the  bandwagon, I officially became suspicious.

After passing into Honduras we were detained at the border while everyone’s bags were checked over. Pretty standard procedure. Then the border officials checked the bus and saw the bags that didn’t make it into the bathroom. After this there was waiting. And more waiting. And much talking amongst the gun-toting border officials and local bus passengers. We stood outside the bus trying to gather some indication on when the party would finally get moving again. Being clueless gringas, we were told nothing but to wait.

It was hard to decide wether to wait outside with the gun carrying Hondurans in the growing darkness or inside the bus with just ourselves and the many bags of powder. Oh, did I mention that it was raining and there was a roaring forest fire on one of the neighboring hills? Never has my life felt so much like a bad action/drama movie. In the end we chose inside as a better sanctuary.

Alone with the bags we were left to theorize:

“Jenna, we’re totally in the middle of drug smuggling.”

“Yea, I think you’re right.”

“So, that really is cocaine?”

“Guess so. We’ll never really know, will we?”

Pointing at the remaining powder on the floor, Whitney suggests, “Go sniff it! Then we’ll know.”

“Sniff it?!? I can’t go sniff it! I’m a nurse! … You go sniff it!”

“No way!”

“Then we’ll never know.”

“Maybe we should gather a sample? You know, so someone else can tell us what it is later.”

“Sample their drugs? Great idea! I’m sure the scary man won’t mind that at all!”

“Yea, ok. I guess we’ll never know.”

In the end we settled on taking a few discreet pictures (just so you all know we aren’t fabricating anything.)

After and hour and a half of waiting wads of lempira magically appeared out of the scruffy young men’s pockets and were doled out to the border officials. We headed on our way and made it safely in and out of San Pedro Sula.

Recounting our tale to Whitney’s Honduran cousin in-law, he was sure it really was some highly conspicuous drug moving.  In the end Whitney and Jenna’s first, and hopefully last drug trafficking experience, ended without a hitch!

After ten years of service in the U.S. our beloved yellow school buse from their trusty service of toting schoolchildren. Are they past their prime? Put out to pasture? Que no! They are shipped south of the border, given amped-up engines, bigger seats and crazy paint jobs. A mid-life crisis, so to speak. They then spend their golden years in countries like Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras, clocking more miles in a day than they did in a week in the U.S.

The “chicken bus” (or “camioneta”) comes in all styles and colors. Some carry remnants of their past life; yellow paint and signs in English warning kids not to be rowdy on the bus. Others pull a 180 and proudly sport bright racing stripes, Christmas lights dangling on the interior, and names like “Princesa” and “Evelyn.” Despite how different they look, camionetas share many qualities. Jam packed with locals (who, in rural settings are known to carry on live animals… thus earning the title “chicken bus”), cheap and hot and sweaty. More often than not, they are piloted by a certifiably crazy driver who never realized his childhood dream of becoming a Formula Uno driver. I read somewhere the theory that the closer you get to the equator the crazier the drivers get. I tend to agree!

As we changed buses approximately eleven times on our way to El Salvador from Monterrico, Guatemala there was ample time to ponder the nature of chicken bus riding. After a while you start to strategize. Here are some of the ways I’ve come up with to help you not only survive but enjoy the ride:

~Local help. It’s impossible to do it without them. Bus stops hide in unlikely places and it’s just silly to think they would be marked. If not for the friendly locals we wouldn’t make it anywere! “Now, go up two blocks and wait on the corner by the banana vendor. Make sure to get on the ‘Melissa’ not ‘El Trigal,’ that will take you the wrong way.”

~Wear deodorant and bring plenty of H2O. Self explanatory. If you’re wondering “Who smells?” it’s nice to know you aren’t the culprit. Also, you never know how long you will be standing in the aisle, or if you’ll ever get a seat and nobody likes a passed out gringo.

~Sit near the back. This strategy is multifactorial and developed by trial and error.

—–The very back is not so good. With an average of one chicken bus accident per day in Guatemala, you don’t want to be in the back if rear ended. Also, the emergency exit is a frequently used 2nd door. Sit in the way back and you may find yourself with 4 other full-grown adults and a baby on the seat meant for 2.

—–The front of the bus is obviously a poor choice. It’s the first to get crowded. Also, the traveling salesmen use the front as their stage for giving their very well rehearsed speeches on their product. After a 15 minute oration on the benefits of vitamina B (which, apparently, fixes EVERYTHING) those in the front might be asked to hold the pill container while being pressured to buy said miracle drug for a mere diez quetzalitos. Thos of us in the mid-back just laugh at the poor souls and, if pressured to buy, can simply say we didn’t hear the speech and aren’t interested. (Shaking your head with a blank look and poorly pronounced “yo no H-ablo Espainyol” also works wonders.)

The final reason the front is clearly a no-go is the view. If, say, the bus driver is yet again passing another bus on a hill with an oncoming car clearly visible, do you really want to see that? Whether in the front of back, you have no power to change your fate if this really is your last moment. Sit in the front and you end up constantly worrying about your own mortality, which just seems excessive.

Yes, clearly the mid-back, right about where the back tires are, is the best choice. Just like in the U.S., you aren’t the nerd in the front nor the bully in the back. Ah, just right!

Hola, Hola!

Last time I wrote was the beginning of the home-sick phase of the trip. Nothing major, we just spent a few mopey and unmotivated days doing nothing incredibly productive…

Lake Atitlan was beautiful (surrounded by volcanoes), but somewhat hard to enjoy because swimming isn’t recommended due topollution. I’d still recommend it, though. We did do some kayaking and were able to see 4 of the cute towns on the lake. After the lake we were off to Quetzaltenango (say that ten times fast!). It’s the 2nd largest Guatemalan city and, by the way, everyone calls it Xela (shay-la) so make sure to use that name or you’ll stand out as even more of a tourist. The city was busy with all the Semana Santa preparations when we arrived. Whit spent one day visiting a friend in the Peace Corps and I visited some natural hot springs outside the city.

To get over our homesickness, I’m slightly ashamed to admit that we went to McDonalds (the fries tasted exactly the same, it was comforting…. don’t judge!) Then we went to an American movie, ignoring the Spanish subtitles, and drank a solid amount of wine at dinner. That pretty much fixed us!  With traveling the highs are higher and the lows are lower. You just have to ride out the lows and enjoy the highs… we made it!

We headed off to Monterrico on the Pacific Coast with our ¨second wind¨ for traveling. The town and the beach were crazy! Semana Santa in Latin countries is certainly an experience. The processions, the preparation, everything is extravagant.

After literally ten bus changes, we made it from Monterrico to La Libertad, El Salvador. We’re planning on settling in here for a couple of days and enjoying the beach and Easter with the Salvadorians. I hope everyone is well in the US, we miss you, and Happy Easter!

Ácaros. I know that word! It’s in my pocket medical Spanish-English dictionary. It’s one of those palabras you see and promptly forget, thinking ”I’ll never need to know that one.” Well, we learned it for good this week. (This experience is bringing back fond memories of Casa Hogar in Tijuana, and learning the un-fun way that ‘piojos’ are head lice.)

After a week plus of ignoring Whit’s rash on her waist, we finally headed to the medico. (I know, I know… didn’t we learn ANYTHING after my ear incident?) The incredibly kind doctor, again the only one open on a Sunday during the Semana Santa processions) took one look at Whit and declared, ”Acaros.” Mites. Most likely Chiggers from walking in the high grasses in the Belize cayos. As Whitney is getting poked and prodded, the doctor and I had a great little chat about healthcare in our respective countries. I got off much better in this deal than Whit, sorry chica. He asked me some questions about nursing, complemented my Spanish (yes!),  and invited me to come back to Antigua for a few months and volunteer at his friend’s clinic. Whit was given her anti-acaro meds and we were sent out the door with a friendly farewell and a kiss on the cheek. For free. The doctor called me his colleague, told us not to worry about the bill, scoffed when Whitney insisted on paying him and sent us on our way. Maybe I’ll write a big old research paper on Central America’s healthcare vs the US when I finally go back to grad school. The differences are fascinating!

After washing all our clothes, bedding and Lysol-ing the dickens out of our backpacks we are now acaros free once again. The most embarrassing part was telling the meticulously clean, motherly owner of our guest house about the problem. She looked at us like dirty, dirty hippies. After some serious google-ing on the matter, we convinced her that they are not that contagious (I managed not to get them) and definitely not lice. By the end of our stay in Antigua we were back on friendly terms with Irma, but I still suspect she was more than happy to see the bug girls go.

In other, more exciting news, we did the Pacaya volcano hike for sunset one day. The hike was about an hour and a half, and completely worth it. On the way up the entertainment was the many Guatemalans on horseback, riding along our group and offering ‘taxi’ services to those who were breathing the hardest. Clever.

Once we got to the actual volcano there was a slower, sharp walk up the old lava beds until we reached the grand finale.

Lava! Real, honest to goodness, molten lava. Since we carried S’more supplies all the way up the darn mountain, we weren’t about to let the heat keep us from our goal.

In the end, the S’mores tasted awesome, but I’m not sure if it was worth it. For one, my backpack became a casualty. I left it with a girl on our tour, who offered to watch it. When I came back from marshmallow roasting I found her happily snapping pictures of the lava while my bag next to her was smoldering. I can’t complain though, since my camera survived somehow withing the backpack. Lesson learned!

Right now we’re spending our last night in Lake Atitlan and are off to a new town tomorrow!

Hola de Guatemala!

A friend recently told me to update more often so all my adoring fans (so basically, my mother and whitney´s mother) can keep up to date. I´ll try harder, I promise!

Guatemala is fantástico! The prices are great compared to Belize! We spent our first few days visiting Flores in northern Guate and hiking around the Ruins of Tikal. After seeing Tikal, I think we´ve pretty much done the Mayan ruins for this trip. It can´t possibly get any better than this site! Set far into the jungle, this place takes your breath away. Fun fact about the Mayans- since they didn´t have gold or silver they used jade as their precious material, even going so far as fashioning it to their teeth for some bling!

After Tikal it was a long, sweaty bus ride to Verapaces region. We parked ourselves in Lanquín, up in the mountains for a few days. If you ever make it to Guatemala GO HERE and stay at ‘El Retiro’ lodge. That place is heaven! Dorms were Q35 (a little over $4) for a retreat type atmosphere with crepes in the morning, campfires at night, hammocks, a river to cool off in and tons of friendly backpackers and hippies.

Another sweaty bus ride and we arrived in Antigua. More on that later, it’s starting to get dark and we have to head back to the hostel. Ciao!

A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His bill will hold more than his belican,
He can take in his beak
Enough food for a week
But I’m damned if I see how the helican!

(Poem by Dixon Merritt)

I’m writing this entry from the idyllic Caye Caulker. My nursing co-workers have come and gone, with good times had by all. Many Piña drinks were consumed by the pool. Those who actually like beer (yuk) enjoyed many a Belikin, the nation’s major locally produced beer. The Conch population decreased by at least 18.3% (in my estimation) as a result of Crystal’s new-found addiction.

We had the opportunity to go to the Mayan ruins of Lamanai and do the very Belize-specific cave tubing adventure. By far one of the best days was a sailing trip to the Hol Chan Marine Reserve just to the south of the Ambergris Caye. Just offshore of Belize is the 2nd largest barrier reef in the world. We were lucky enough to see some incredible marine life, especially while snorkeling ‘Shark Ray Alley’ within the reserve. As the name suggests, this spot has an abundance of sting rays, eagle rays and, yes, sharks. We swam with sharks and survived! Let’s check that off the ‘Grand To-Do’ list!

Scratching ‘SCUBA diving the barrier reef’ off the To-Do list didn’t work out so well. While snorkeling earlier in the week I made the innocent and fateful decision to dive down and grab a starfish. Though it couldn’t have been more than 15 feet under, I didn’t make it. There was a painful “pop” and I had to resurface. After 3 days of ignoring my ear’s partial hearing loss (I’m a nurse, it’s best to ignore problems and see if they go away, right?) I was convinced to see a doc. We found the only doctor seeing patients on the national holiday (an OB-GYN of all things, great…) and he diagnosed me with a whopping hole in my eardrum. No diving for me for awhile! The good news is: 1. I have no pain. 2. I’ll never have to use the island’s tiny, sketchy birthing suite!

Belize itself is a fascinating and beautiful country. Once known as “British Honduras,” it has been claimed at one time or another by Britain, Spain, Guatemala and, of course, the Mayans. As a result, their primary language is English but Spanish, Creole and Mayan are also spoken. Belize has only been officially independent since 1981 and (I had no idea before arriving) there’s a long standing beef between them and Guatemala. Apparently in 2000 Guatemala asserted that Belize is still Guatemalan territory and they’re still squabbling over the issue. We’ll get the Guate point-of-view starting tomorrow and let you know!

Today’s our last day in Belize and, sadly, Chelsea’s last day with us as well. Tomorrow we’re off to Guatemala and Chels is off to Boston (we tried to convince her to come with us, but apparently dropping out of school mid-semester is a small detail she can’t get over).

Thanks for reading! Keep in touch!

Matching red backpacks? Check.

Unknown amount of time without employment? Check.

Well organized itinerary? Nope!

Whit and I have officially embarked on our much anticipated journey! We started out slowly by spending a week in Cabo San Lucas, MX with Whitney’s family.

The week was fabulous! Poolside margaritas, leisure reading and plenty of quality family time. I celebrated my 25th birthday at “The Office,” (cool enough for Jennifer Aniston, supposedly). Those Tenolds were hard to keep up with! After 2.5 margaritas and a visit from Rambo (a large, hairy, sombrero wearing tequila fairy) I was pretty giggly. What a great way to start my life as a “half way to 50″ year old, as Whit and brothers put it.

To top off the excitement, I started my first day as a 25 year old with a tsunami warning here in Cabo. After lots of hype and seeking “higher ground” on the upper floor of the hotel we were led to an all together anti-climatic conclusion. The 1.2 foot “tsunami” that hit our coast wasn’t even discernible from our rooftop lookout! I must say, one of baby T’s infamous carrot-yam “poo-namis” (Tenold word, copyright pending) are far more a force to be reckoned with…

Today we’re off to Cancun to begin week 2 of this adventure. First day without parental supervision… now the TRAVELING begins.