SAN BLAS ISLANDS II

There's so much to love about the San Blas Islands.

The stunning clarity and colors of the water that laps soothingly over the white sand beaches, which Liz could never seem to get enough of. The ubiquitous bead anklets and bracelets the local Kuna women wear to signify whether they're married or not. The lady below, preparing fresh fish for our dinner is married, as noted by the wide wrap around each ankle. 

The quality of food and accommodation varies from island to island. Since only Kuna people can run businesses in the San Blas Islands (no foreign-owned companies allowed...meaning the Hard Rock San Blas will not be happening there anytime soon), the hotels and accompanying restaurants are run by the same one or two families who inhabit whichever island visitors end up staying on. 

While this often means sleeping arrangements are rustic and meals can be culinarily-challenged at times, the overall experience is one that's becoming more and more difficult to come by.

Above, Liz stands in the doorway of our hut. Amenities include one naked light bulb hanging from the palm roof, one thin mattress resting on cross-cut palm trunks, and a hammock for when the bed filled with sand. After lights out, the darkness is profound, as are the starry skies and the sounds from the waves nearby and the palms overhead. 

For families or groups, there are larger huts with multiple hammocks.

But the main attraction can only be the islands themselves. Picture perfect, whether from a distance...

Or frozen in yoga pose atop one...

Or closing business deals just next to one.

If you have time, the San Blas are so worth a visit (or two). While you're there, take some time to enjoy the scene, learn about the locals, and consider a volunteer activity such as  a beach cleanup.

And of course, don't forget to take dominion over your own palm-crowned private island. It's as unique a place as we've seen on the trip and will definitely be making our Top 10 list, if we ever get around to putting one together. 

PHOTO FRIDAY: SLEEPING IN THE JUNGLE

The rain forest cabana where we slept for two nights at Playa Venao.

If ever you wanted to wake up to the sound of howling monkeys, chirping crickets and exotic bird calls, Playa Venao is for you. 

In addition to being home to one of Panama's best beach surf breaks, Venao is surrounded by shrinking swath of lush jungle irrigated by streams that gurgle just outside the door of your hut. Thanks to increasing development, the forest is disappearing, but a few conservation-minded folks, particularly from the jungle lodge at Eco Venao, are doing what they can to protect what's left, including providing visitors the opportunity to spend hours swinging in their private hammock (that's ours above!) surrounded by the soundtrack of the rain forest. Not a bad way to spend a few days, particularly as the end of our trip nears...

BEAUTIFUL BELO SUR MER

So, eight hour boat trip aside, this place really is beautiful. We can admit that now.

When we arrived, however, hot, thirsty, and sunburned with still a 1 kilometer walk through a sandy marsh to anything reminiscent of a hotel, we can't say it made the best first impression.

But, we were glad to be on land. And, Liz was particularly excited about the diving. We'd heard stories about the reefs offshore in the deep, clear waters of the Mozambique Channel, which was one of our main reasons for heading to this very out of the way place.

Alas, the universe had other plans. After struggling along in the mud and sand, we stopped at every guesthouse (there are four in total, even counting the uninhabitable one barely standing after cyclone damage). Each one we passed was either closed for the season or full (though we saw no other foreigners for miles). Sounds like a typically planned Liz and Kip trip so far...

As we went to what we thought was the final hotel (they were closing down for the season and wouldn't let us stay), we were lucky to meet one of the owners of Ecolodge de Menabe, who told us he had rooms. The owner ran the only dive shop within 100 miles. Despite his perfect English, he only wanted to speak French, so Liz decided to wow him with her skills, asking, "Plongee?" For those without such an amazing command of the language, this is the French word for diving.  And he replied, "No plongee." To which Liz said, "Oh no!" and he replied in his heavy French accent "Oh, yes!"  She was not amused.

But, his place was marvelous and he gave the three of us (thank you Ernest for not smothering us in our sleep) the best bungalow in the entire place. We felt special. We were the only guests in the entire village, and the local kids showed off for us a bit  by having a contest with their spinning tops.

We were also served some tasty samosas by these adorable and precocious kiddos. We can honestly say, nothing tastes better than a fresh fish samosa. Especially when it's delivered right to your doorstep, with a smile.


And then, there were the sunsets.

All of this ALMOST made up for the fact that we had an eight-hour boat ride back...which, in true Madagascar style, was really 12 hours. 

Market stuff in Belo: Clockwise, starting with dried sardines, weird hush puppies, two bowls of salty fish patties, and six fuzzy round fruits from the baobabs, which Liz took a liking to.

Liz with a sunblock-covered friend we met after picking up trash along the town's main road (a sandy path). 

The kids could work wonders with their homemade tops.
Winding the rope around the spindle, they would hurl
the balls into the air  and at just the right moment,
pull back so the top dropped, spinning madly,
into their palm or on their chest or even
on one guy's head. Good show.

READING ENGLISH BY CANDLELIGHT

The best part of a visit to Myanmar is meeting the people who live here. Despite plenty of reasons to be less than happy, (rampant poverty and a life under a totalitarian government, to name two), the folks we've met have been some of the happiest, friendliest anywhere. 

On a bicycle ride through one of the local villages near Inle Lake, we met a man named U Paw San. He was walking with his nine-year old daughter along the shore. We said hello, he said hello. We were lost, as usual, so we asked U Paw where the dirt track we were on was headed. Luckily, he spoke some English. He gave us directions and then answered a few our inane questions about where to see birds, what time the sun sets, and if we were allowed to even be in his village.

The next thing we knew, he invited us to his house to meet the rest of his family and to have tea. It may sound somewhat abrupt, strangers getting asked into someone's home, but this quick hospitality happens often here. You start up a conversation with a local, and in two minutes, you're holding their baby or giving them high fives or having tea at their house.  

The most rewarding part for us came when his shy daughter finally started talking to us. Over hot tea, U Paw told us she was one of the top students in her English class at school, and she really wanted to practice. But she wasn't used to meeting strangers. 

By the second cup, and after much encouragement from her dad and mom, she brought her little backpack to a small table on the floor, pulled out her English workbook and started reading off a list of vegetables in English to Liz. There was no electricity in the house, which was built on wooden posts for flood protection, so we drank, read, and studied by candlelight. 

After about two hours of reading and talking, she decided to show us everything in her backpack. In addition to papers and well-used school books, the most interesting thing she showed us was her pencil sharpener--a small straight razor, which she was quite adept at using, much to her dad's delight. It's hard to imagine seeing 20 nine-year olds in class all whittling pencils with razor blades at the same time. 

Typical of Burmese hospitality, U Paw and family invited us to come back the next day. We couldn't say no, and we spent most of the day with them (more about that later), culminating in another candlelight English session over tea and rice cakes. As a bonus, the daughter taught us to count to 100 in Burmese. 


After spending so much time with the family and meeting so many neighbors in the village, we took some photos of everyone and printed them out as a thank you for adopting us temporarily. 

U Paw San's niece, face smeared with thanaka, came downstairs to read with us for a while. U Paw's parents and sister's family live upstairs in their two-room house. 

Mom holding MoMo, their youngest, surrounded by five young neighborhood boys.

Mom and son MoMo. They have four children total--three boys and a girl.

Liz playing "swing me" with a new friend.