Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘puerto san jose’

Campbell’s…right, the  high point of this weeks’ jaunt to the ‘sailor’s port’ of Puerto San Jose, the cane fields of Bilbao and Monument 21…it turned out that this is a good time to wander around the cane fields looking for Mayan carvings. The fields are dry and the cane is low, providing good visibility…yeah, Hill Billy Tom is credited with spotting the elusive carved stone.

PSJ? hot/humid, buzzing with folks on motos….cant’ say that I advise driving at night with HBT….his night vision is lousy, the cracked windshield in the Ford truck doesn’t help and there are other ‘factors’….we did, however, find the ‘new and improved;’ Bamboo Room, now known as El Talisman…didn’t find the Millenium or the Las Vegas clubs, nor the other ‘places’ that HBT had been to..we kinda swore an oath, that ‘what happens in Puerto San Jose, stays in Puerto San Jose’, so any specific details of events/conversations or observations will not be reported here.

the hotel was perfect, the weather hotter than hell…the dancers at El Talisman sweated a lot and in general, the place was a vast improvement over the old Bamboo Club..and I’ll punch out a few words/photos about the monument 21 in the field..only one narrow miss/gut-wrenching moment when riding with HBT, doing the ol passing uphill/curve/narrow  bridge routine.

In a week from now, it’s off to Guanajara, the little village over the river from Gualan and a hide-out from the looniness of Semana Santa here in Antigua…there may be seats open for this run, as it, somehow, isn’t sounding attractive to the usual crew…c’mon..what’s a few rounds of random gunfire at night? thankfully, at least to me, I have an extra box of ammo that needs ‘field testing’…and given the dud rounds from the previous source, this is a good chance to…er..be one of the boys? from what I’ve heard, gunfire and holes in the  roof are standard behavior there..and the Campbells soup reference? a LaTorre Supermercado in PSJ…

Image

Read Full Post »

‘just back from another try at journalism in Puerto San Jose….I should know better, by now..back to the haven of the Posada de Don Carlos, that excellent Colombian-owned beach hotel…yes, I probably shouldn’t have fired off the flare pistol at midnight, from the penthouse patio…but it was show and tell and Ed needed to see it in action(in case he ever needs to pull/fire his)…and yes, the night watchman was a bit perturbed…hey, we’re getting warmed up for Halloween, no?

is the pumpkin colored?

is the pumpkin colored?

yes…the Bamboo Club(for lack of a better name)was open mid-day on a Thursday…catering to a van load of cruise-ship employees…I won’t go into details, except to mention that Mark, the German guy, did get what he was looking for..

yes, my dear...you do have a full pair of jeans

yes, my dear...you do have a full pair of jeans

so…no work, interviews or note-taking…no Salty Beaver Beach Resort story…another time, another trip…an early night….manana? more travel tips/story for the www.examiner.com/x-22480-central-america-travel-examiner gig….I’m whipping on poor Honduras for the moment, with a back hand to Mexico and Nicaragua coming up later..writing about those off-the-map hell-holes, drug-infested discos and places to see and do..I suspect it will be an early night…the body can only take so much abuse and I’ve pushed it this week.

Read Full Post »

I had the best of intentions.  I would go to Puerto San Jose, do the charter boat marina, go to Puerto Quetzal for the cruise ships and talk with captains/boat drivers and get the story of being on the waterfront, hooking up those sail fish….alas…the shuttle from Antigua dropped me off at the offramp for San Jose and along came a ‘chicken bus’….hopped aboard, the gringo with suitcase and panama hat, and for 2 quetzals…downtown San Jose!  whoopee…no, less than whoopee…my hotel was a ways further and the tuk-tuks in town are not motorized…they’re pedal powered. ..add 200 lbs of gringo, a suitcase of maybe 30 lbs and the poor bastard had to huff and puff. The hotel, the Posada Quetzal, wasn’t quite what the photos on their web-site offered…a decent pool, good staff but the room I was given was reminiscent of a summer time campsite…thatched roof for a ceiling, bare fluorescent lights and a few bugs..rough wooden floors, no glasses, no ice and no towels: malo…I found a store/tienda across the street that had a dust-covered bottle of Ron Botran Anejo…so old that the cork broke off..half in the bottle, half out..a dip in the pool and a snooze later, I woke up in the early evening. Across the black sand of the football field were the lights of another hotel, right on the beach…Posada de Don Carlos…my kind of place.

I love beach scenes

I love beach scenes

I moved the next morning…my driver w/the 9mm and co-conspirator in nocturnal adventures, arrived about noon. A friend of his called, with an assortment of women to meet…we met, we drank another bottle of old rum(but with a good cork)and retired for a nap before meeting them later at their work place…I assumed, wrongly, that they worked in a club, a bar or such…nope…red lights, nude dancing and propositions of the more personal type…we’d stopped at the store for their last dusty-covered bottle of rum: by this time, the widow in black had seen me buy three bottles in 24 hours….hmm…a serious gringo….off to the club, which opened at 8 pm…no sign, no clue of the action inside…locked gate, admission only by permission…ah, good car, gringo..must be money inside…to be continued..must sleep and rest.

Read Full Post »