My trip to “Guate” started with two ferry rides from Belize… Well, ‘ferry rides’ is an over exaggeration. It was really just a couple of speedboats, and with 1.5 meter waves it was some rough riding. To calm my nerves I spent eight days hammocking and getting drunk at a hostel in Livingston, almost taking up an offer of becoming a staffer there for a month.

Afterwards, the time was spent on more regular travel activities like river-tours, busing, and Mayan ruins – where I almost succeeded in bribing the guards at Tikal to let me sleep on top of one of the temples: a top reachable only by free climbing a 55 meter high latter in a 85 degree angle..

My next adventure was getting from Tikal to the town of Cobán. 

The bus driver dropped me and a local guy off 45 km before our final destination, at a gas station in the middle of no-where, just because we were the only people left on the bus and he wanted to go home. Night was coming, and with Guate not being a place where you wanna get stuck after dark, we took up an offer to be driven to a village 25 km further down the road, where we could sleep at a local family's house who was friends with the local guy.. The ride there would be a nerve-racking. It was in the back of a pick-up, with 80-90 km/h on a bumpy highway – statistically the most dangerous form of transportation.

After finally reaching Cobán I went on to place called Lanquin where the menu was set on diving through underwater caves, jumps from a 12 meter bridge, and caving. Caving is pretty much just exploring a cave – with the little twist of only having candles to light the darkness of the caves. Me and the other people went in and most of the time we had to walk in waist-deep water. A handful of places we had to swim, with one hand keeping the candle above water, the other holding ourselves up. If all our four candles went out at the same time we would have to stumble and swim our way back through 700 meters of total darkness!

After all of this was done, it was time for what is called the “Death Road of Central America”. 40 km of mountain road that has been taken out by major mudslides, and with no official attempts to repair, the locals have had to make some drivable tracks in the mud, centimetres from vertical drops of up to 500 meters. The views where both terrific and terrifying, of scenery and drops respectively. Most of the trip was done with a heart beat a lot faster than normally, only to stop completely when our bus had to pass a vehicle going in the opposite direction, literally putting our wheels on the edge of the cliff (read: mudslide).

But we made it, thanks to the Rambo of a bus driver, and I once again managed staying alive. But Guate still had a challenge up its sleeve, a city often featured on the “Most dangerous cities in the world”: Guatemala City. And it all started well, on my way into the city was my MP3-player stolen from my backpack on the top of the bus, making this steal just one more in the statistics. Statistics telling, among other horrible things, that 20 persons get murdered every day in Guatemala City!
My biggest concern, however, was not avoiding getting killed (as that usually is limited to outskirts and gang members), but was not getting robbed, losing more valuables, so no flashing my camera (hence no picture) and having the least amount of cash on me as possible when leaving the hotel. Luckily the only two near-action situation I got into didn’t result in me losing anything. 

The first was on the main plaza. A place I really would have liked a picture off, but right next to me were a couple of guys heavily tattooed with gang numbers and symbols, making me think twice before taking out my camera. I actually fell into conversation with them, being very happy when three school girls came by and asked me for a charity donation, giving me an execution to flash my wallet with less than five bucks in it in front of the gangsters.

The other situation had a little more action. On the main street of the city tried a seven year-ish boy to pickpocket me less-than-discretely, resulting in me smacking him on his head and serving him a couple of impolite phrases in Danish. After that treatment he looked like someone who wanted to pick a fight, but given his size I pretty much ignored him. That said, I did sneak into a café around the corner for the next hour, just in case he would come back with a knife or more tough friends. Always prepare for the worst and expect the best!

Next time the stories will be about cliff-jumping, climbing active volcanoes, a robbery attempt, landmines, and guerilla soldiers in El Salvador. ...

I love traveling in countries people don’t know exist, and one of these is Belize. It has some of everything: party/diving islands; jungle rivers; amazing caves; traditional villages; and probably the current world record in “most scumbags in the smallest area”.

Truth be told, I spent most of my time in the first four places, and slogans like ‘Beautiful Belize’ is what comes to mind when I think back despite some of stories below.

Exhibit A: Drifting down a jungle river in Northern Belize, spotting crocodiles and having spider monkeys jumping into the boat. 

Exhibit B: Spending time in a traditional Mayan villages with less than 500 inhabitants, living in palm huts with local families, eating food cooked in clay ovens, playing football with the boys, and exploring the surrounding caves in my ‘spare time’.

But not everything is picture perfect. Belize City is another story! I have rarely felt less safe in a place than there – and I’ve been in some doubtful places during my travels. It might not be that dangerous, but the feeling of not being in control of your situation is always there. It’s the biggest city in Belize, but not the capital, which means that every scumbag, beggar and lowlife comes there. At the same time the city has nothing really acting as protection with the lack of upper class politicians, so security is inadequate. Combine this with the fact that the population is less that 75,000 people so the area you visit as a traveller is pretty much limited till two squares connected by a river that runs between the city. So all the touts and hustlers go there, and if it’s impossible to avoid going there at least a handful of times each day, meaning that even the beggars will remember you and the bad excuse you gave them last time you walked past. It takes some imagination to find an excuse good enough that it will not backfire the next time you see the drug dealer who tried to sell you drugs five minutes ago…

On top of this, Belize City has the same same reputation as Guatemala City, Johannesburg, and Nairobi (Nairobbery): ‘If you go there, you will most certainly get robbed’. This is of course an overstatement, but I took my precautions (I will tell more of these when I'm updating you on my travels in Guatemala).

Basically, always have your valuables out of sight, keep them on you if possible, and if not always have them locked away. In Belize City I kept everything on me, in that way knowing that I would only loose anything if I got robbed on the street, and in those situations you have some control of what and how much you want to handle over if you keep your wits about you. For this strategy to work: never flash anything you don't wanna loose in case bad guys were watching you. It turned out to be a smart move as I didn't get robbed. Especially because my hostel room got broken into while I was out. There are no dorms in Belize, so everybody gets a cheap single room, which lock is basically a hatch-lock, kind of the same size that my backpack is locked with. This wasn't how the burglar(s) got in though, they went through the window, kicking in the mosquito net. After this they could easily cut the lock on my backpack, the only risk was for me to come back mid-day, but not very likely when you are out and about in a city this size... Having left nothing of value behind the burglars found nothing but dirty clothes and had to leave empty handed.

Those stories are only for Belize City, though. People everywhere else in Belize are lchill, friendly, and fresh. The Caribbean lifestyle is everywhere there, and it feels more like Jamaica than Central America. If you get the chance to visit, it’s a sure destination for divers, party people, nature lovers, and history buffs!

Greetings from Guatemala, where I’m still alive after driving the "Death Road" of Central America, but only on my way to Guatemala City (by many believed to be in the top 10 of the 'Most Dangerous Cities in the World). ...

So naturally there’s not a lot to report from there, with the exception of me holding a Mayan crystal skull (like the one the in newest Indiana Jones movie), so I might be cursed now… 

It might be a good curse though, for the Mexico part of the trip was a smooth ride – they have both cheaper and better buses than the US (and I’m talking about their 2nd class buses!). I’ve picked up on the hitchhiking down here, which is easier than in the US too – one trip was a half hour ride on a motorcycle, not normally fitting three people, zig-zagging through traffic. We even had to pass a police checkpoint, but they mostly seemed impressed with the bike holding together under the weight. The lecture of the day (by some of my new Mexican friends) is the following: “The police are NOT your friend, the tourist police can MAYBE be your friend.” – so if you ever go, watch the corruption. Fellow travellers had to pay bribes for drinking in public even though there shouldn’t be a law against that.

Other more interesting highlights have been climbing a 30-something meter high Mayan pyramid, diving in a cenote (underwater cave, filled with rainwater) and breaking in to another cenote to have a swim. The last cenote was officially in a protected area open to the public, but had been closed off by a rustic fence. Luckily this was removable and we could go for a swim. We met the Mexican couple with the police-advice (whose names I have shamefully forgot), a new Finnish friend Tony, and an old Finnish friend from UNBC, Hanna. So today’s shout-out goes to these four fantastic people.

Stay tuned, the next entry is gonna be fun: I visit a place where most people want your money, one way or another, and my hostel room is broken into while my bags are searched. ...

As I write this, I am already deep into the gang-infested Mexico, more specifically in Merida, which is actually a very nice and peaceful part of Mexico…

Three weeks in the land of the free and home of the brave have passed. It has been a kind of America-light, the West Coast is the part that mostly resembles Canada and Northern Europe, so the cultural shock didn’t really hit me. A few interesting episodes came up though: first, an arrest on my bus between Salem, Oregon, and Sacramento, California. Two patrol cars pull up next to the bus and make it stop, thereafter two officers with guns drawn enter the bus telling everybody to get out. Outside we are met by two other officers also pointing their firearms at us rather aggressively. Apparently the bad guy is on the bus, but realizing he’s outnumbered and outgunned, gives himself without any struggle.
More police action followed after I had spend a few days in San Francisco. Six police cars pull up in front of the house across the street from where I am staying and a dozen cops storms the house. A few ambulances arrive at the scene as well, even though I don’t hear any shots fired. The word on the street afterward was that they had cleaned out a drug nest, a hangout, or a laboratory. But all that is just rumors…

Most of my time in the US was spent sightseeing and relaxing as any good traveler would have done, but that is rather boring stuff to tell you, so I’ll leave that out. But just to inform you guys, I visited Seattle, Salem, Monmouth, Sacramento, San Francisco and L.A., with the highlight being San Fran by far! I’m inviting everybody over there when I get rich enough!
After my stay in San Fran. I decided that U.S. buses were too expensive and too shitty, and with trains not really being an option between San Fran and L.A. the most interesting way to get there would be hitchhiking. So a made a primitive sign saying ’South’ on one side and ’L.A.’ on the other and stuck out my thumb. 5th car passing me in San Fran picked me up; an old hippie named Paul in an even older pick up truck. He only drove me down to Fremont but had plenty of time to praise the long lost art of hitchhiking on the way. Next, a Chinese family picked me up, spending their time praising suburban America for being so nice and peaceful, not really understanding why I wanted to go to L.A. as the place is noisy, dangerous, and filled with Latin-Americans. I then decided not to tell them about going to Central America after L.A., as that would have been a bad idea.
The Chinese family dropped me off in the middle of nowhere because they had to make a turn from the highway outside San Jose. This gave me the change of hitching a ride with a California farmer, and an old school one, chewing on his straw and trash-talking literally everyone most of the way. To bring you a little inside in his mind, people he disliked ranged from: the ’spoiled kids in L.A.’ to ’lazy spics n' Niggers’ to ’fat white trash’ everywhere else in the US and ’damn hippies in San Francisco’. I have forgotten a few of his other insults, but this list should give you the idea. The only decent people in his mind seemed to be farmers, but not the ’hillbillies’ and ’stupid cowboys’ from back East. No, the only good ones were farmers from California!
I still don’t know why he picked me up and if he was lying when he claimed to have voted for more Democrats than Republicans the few times he actually bothered. Luckily the ride was over quick as he was only going to Salinas! (Please Google Map these places yourselves)
Last ride I got went all the way to L.A. with a weed smoking; Christian-rock-listening trucker in his big American rig. He picked me up and offered to drive me all the way down there. He didn’t bother to pull the truck over when he lit his pipe, which was about ten times doing those 5 hours of driving, he just leaned forward supporting the steering wheel with his elbows and kept on driving. But he did turn off the radio as a ’non-believing Scandinavian shouldn’t have to listen to all that divine bullshit'.

Apparently he liked the music better than the message it was playing… Just to top it off he bought me dinner at a trucker cafe outside L.A. Surprisingly we made it all the way through his cloud of weed and I stayed alive hitchhiking in the US of A.
If you ever do go to California, try the hitchhiking business! It’ll save you a ton of money and you’ll meet all the crazy locals not spending all their time in the big metropolises of the West Coast. It even got me free beers when I arrived at my hostel in L.A. because they were impressed with me being a ’real backpacker’, hitchhiking my way down the coast.

Finally, a big shout-out to Hanna, Caro, Jerome, Eric, Eduardo, Steven and his crew, Claudia, Alexi, Isky, Zen, Lalou, Marius, the gang at USA Hostel, LA and Danny & Tommy for making my US trip a little bit more unforgettable.
Oh yeah, don’t make fun of the hat! I’m getting mad props for it everywhere…

Look forward to the next entry on Mexico and Belize! ...

I’m still in Canada, after four months of fun learning at UNBC in Prince George, BC. Now down in Vancouver I'm ready to shoot this travel blog off - with the most boring entry imaginable! 

First part ofthe trip is already detailed planned, the rest, not so much:

On the 23^rd fellow UNBC exchange students: Jerome (Fra); Hanna(Fin); and Caro (Fra) are driving through on a bus on its way to Seattle, Washington. I’m jumping on it as it passes. I’m then sending the guys back to the Canada, while I’m getting a ride with yet some other UNBC exchange students – Stephen and Eduardo (USA) who lives in Portland, Oregon, and is driving me down there.

I’m finally gonna leave my fellow UNBC’ers alone on the 29^th to hit Sacramento, Cali. before visiting San Francisco and LA.

I’m leaving the US and entering the Spanish speaking world (I’ll be SO lost) on May 10 on a flight to Cancun in southern Mexico. From there I'll improvise my way through the dangers, eventually to French Guyana where I'll fly to Paris from before getting back to Denmark.

Don't expect too many entries, if any, before I get to Mexico - it's probably be a pretty dull vacation until that, at least to read about...

Catch you on the flip side!

This is my last day in Madagascar. I’m, sadly, flying out tomorrow.

The last 6 days were enjoyed in Madagascar’s most northern city of Diego Suarez. These days defiantly made up my summer vacation this year, hence I didn’t do much. Most of the time, I was just hanging out around the city’s beaches and bars with a French student from Reunion I met on the hotel (he reminds one remarkably well of the turtles in ‘Finding Nemo’).

The most action packed episodes here included following:

Renting a car (to find new beaches).

Buying our way into a 4-stared hotel pool area (where I spend a day sipping Mojitos).

Eating crocodile at a restaurant (tastes like a mix of chicken and fish).

Hanging around the hotels roof, chewing khat (now don’t say that. It’s just crewing on a plant – it’s perfectly natural… Cows do it all day), before hitting the nightlife hard!

Nightlife here could be more fun if there were fewer prostitutes. The opposite, of course, applies if you have poor morals!

Yesterday I spend 30 hours in a, long but rather pleasant, minibus, backtracking 1150 km back to Tana. Today I’m blowing the last of my money on expensive cafés, fancy cakes and nice restaurant – there is no fun in exchanging back to Euros.

All in all, this entire trip has been nothing but great!

Overall distance travelled in Mada: 2.500 kilometers (not included inner-city travel, to and from the airport, ect.).

Means of transportation: On foot, by motocross bike, minibus, pickup truck and boat.

National parks visited: 2 (overall stay: 7 days)

Number of dives made: 2

Road kill passed: 1 zebu (cow), 6 chickens, 4 rats, 3 cats, 2 lemurs, 2 dogs, and a man in his early forties :(

Overall budget: 13.500 DKK (1.800 €)

Budget minus flight tickets: 7.500 DKK (1.000€)

No. of sick days: 1

No. of great days: 34

No. of bath Ask had have since the 16/7: 12 (getting sandy and salty on the beach, and my hotel in Diego was the only second on the trip with hot water helped double the number).

4 years of travelling and shitty jobs is now over – it’s time to grow up and start a new chapter. I’ll miss being a ‘travel bump’, and I think it’s doubtful if I ever cast that definition of myself totally overboard.

It’s been 4 years of fun, with few obligations. That’s gonna chance now! Even though rumors have it that the university life is fun, it’s all in Denmark – and there is so much of the world I haven’t seen… I actually still have drawn up plans for longer trips in both Africa, South America as well as in Central Asia. Now – if I’m lucky – my budget will allow few days of traveling. I hope 10 days a year or so will be enough. I’ll just have to spice the locations up with New York, Somalia and Turkmenistan then.

Bonus info: A local prostitute will set you back 12€, if you don’t bargain that is.

After a fewdays rest I was heading out for another walk. 110 km should covers in fivedays. My last walking experience still fresh in my memories I decided to hire aporter (read: a black man to carry my luggage like in the good old colonial times),along with my guide to get trough the Parc National l’Masoala, and in generallynot to get lost in the jungle. The area is without roads of any kind – not eventhe usual connection of potholes – so this time there wouldn’t be any pickupsor motocross’ to pick me up.

Doing the firstthree days we walked in terrains of big green hills (it went from sea level upto a 1250 metersand back down again), trough waist-deep rivers and because of the rainy seasonthe paths we should follow was covered in 15 cm of mud. Pretty much forcing us to walk alongand in small streams instead.

Having stomachproblems for the first time on this trip, I struggled on day one. Weakened bydehydrations due to vomiting at noon and getting a case of travelers’ diarrhea whenwe finally reach camp for the day, this was not my best day. Tough we had finishedthe 25 kmin the planned 7 hours, I feared for the days to come when I crept into mysleeping back rather early that night. But Hakuna Matata (‘there are no worries’ in Swahili), I flew through thesecond day, felling better than ever! Having, apparently, been sweating thelast bit of illness, which was left in my body, out doing the night.

Anyway, thefought day of the hike was definitely the most interesting and I deeply regretthat I’d ran out of batteries to my camera when we got that far (4 was empty and4 destroyed by water),

From themorning we had to use machetes to get forward, just to give up a few hours laterand make our way down to the river. Waking on the river shores, we had to crossthe river 13 times and even walk in the middle of it for almost an hour strait.

On this daywe saw lemurs, chameleons and snakes. We even had to climb the rocks on the riverbankto get pass the two small sections of the river where crocodile lives!

All in all,this King Day took us 35 kmin 11 hours, actually finishing our walk a day ahead of schedule. Leaving onlya 4 hour wait and a 3 hours drive the last 20 km to the coast town of Antalaha. Driving on theback of a small truck careering 25 people on its load, 4 in the cabin and even 2 on themotor hood, this became a carry of 30+ souls, even picking a few more up alongthe way. You gotta love the effectiveness and lack of respect for dangerous roadsthey have in Africa.

Bonus info:The first King of a united Madagascartook the name: Andriamanpoinimerinandriantsimitoviaminandriampanjaka (to makeit easier his people shortened it to Andrianampoinimerina).

Alreadywhen I planned my trip, back in Denmark,I decided that I’d travel the northeast coast of Madagascar. Called the Vanilla Coast(lots of vanilla plantations) or the Pirate Coast because of a lot offormer pirate settlements.

It’s tailormade for travelers with a well developed sense of adventure. Much of the 900 kilometer iswithout proper road, so you’ll have to fly or walk some sections.

I startedout in a village called Soanierra-Ivongo, from there I used 17 hours on makingmy way 127 north to the town of Mananara.How? I on the back of a pickup truck, under a piece of plastic to cover fromthe rain and sun. My Lonely Planet guide writes the following about the trip:“The road dignified with the name Route National 5 (RN5). However, for much ofits length it’s no more than a collection of deep potholes joint togetherfilled with mud. In all of Madagascar’srough, rough journeys, this one particularly stands out – so it’s only to beattempted by the seriously masochistic or truly desperate”. I’ll let you decidewitch category I belong in. Afterwards, this trip easily makes my top threeover the roughest trips I’ve ever done – only soundly beaten by a few in Sudan.

After this,there were no cars, forcing me to walk the last of the way to my seconddestination on the coast, the town of Maroantsetra(starting point for the Maosala National Park).

This partof the trip surely is one for my history book. Walking 60 km in three days I passedtough a number of small villages, were the locals was truly surprised to see aforeigner next to their houses. This making most of the villagers to flockaround me, asking me all kinds of strange questions. I both had to perform asdoctor, treating burn- and knife wounds, in one village and teaching English ina another village’s school.

Only halfway to Maroantsetra I was beginning to think I was in over my head. Most of mybody was hurting and I was running out of supplies (unable to re-supply enoughfood in the villages). Luckily, towards the end of the third day, I was pickedup by a motocross bike, and the last 60 K’s was done in just about six hours.

Bonus info:None I’ve meet knows anything about a lion called Alex, a zebra called Marty, a hippos called Gloria or a giraffe called Melman.

No. of bath Ask had have since the 16/7: 5

For the last five days I haven’t done much. I’m “stuck” on the island called Ile Sainte Marie. And it has been pure relaxation.
A typical day looks a lot like this: Get out of bed around noon, and make my way across the beach around 20 meters to the hotel restaurant to get breakfast. Do some swimming, enjoy the sun for a few hours and get some lunch. Use some more time on the beach, chat with the other guest or to some reading. Remember to get up from the beach in time for dinner!

The evenings are typically spent with a couple of French backpackers, sharing tales and (half) true stories about our travels while drinking coco/rum punch – which is absolutely fantastic!

Beside what I just mentioned, I went diving the other day. I promised to say hallo from the sea turtles, got to say that diving while you are able to hear the humpback whales sing is an absolutely fantastic experience!

Tomorrow I’m leaving all this – it’s properly a good idea, this isn’t exactly adventurous. The plan is to sail back to the mainland, drive north for two days straight and reach the town of Mananara. From here I have to walk or hitchhike 114 km, because there is no public transport, to a new place called Maroantsetra. From here even the road ends, and I need to hire a guide before trekking 80 through rainforest to get to my final destination of Antalaha.

So for the next 6-9 days I’ll be out of reach with any kind of civilized world.

Bonus info: A lobster dinner at my hotel restaurant costs a neat 5€

I’ve always liked to pack. Even though I just arrived late the night before and only had time to unpack a t-shirt. I’ll still be able to repack my entire backpack once more. The feeling of setting off to a new place, to new experiences, to some place unknown. Until your journey is finally over and you pack your stuff for the last time, before going home to everything you love. Places, events, people.

Not for the last time though. For as well as you know that you’ll return home when you set off, I know that I, once again in the future, shall pack my backpack and head for new adventures.

When it’s at its best, traveling between places can be the greatest joy of the entire trip! I’m not talking about the light feeling one have when opening the free pack of peanuts on the plane (even though that feeling can bring great joy with slightly VIP-feeling it brings because you are not treated like that at home).

Let me give you my purest example from my travels here in Mada. The overland trip from Tamatave up the east coast to Soanierana-Ivango:

I start out from the minibus station at 6 a.m. driving north along the sunrise. I’m on the front seat. The driver to my left and a fellow passenger to my right. Backpackers call this The Dead Seat, even though it’s the most comfortable seat in the whole bus. Why? Because it’s the only of the three front seats that don’t have a seatbelt (and it don’t seem to have it anywhere in the developing world). You would defiantly like a seatbelt when racing 90 km/h on a ‘road’, which is more a long line of potholes than an actually road. An accident will, at any time, smash the person sitting in The Dead Seat up on the front window like an insect!

Happy not being in my place the fellow on my right, a local businessman, decides to introduce me to local folktales and ancient believes, and as we go along the whole bus is filled with cheers and laughter.

Every time the bus makes a stop, it’s surrounded by street vendors trying to sell us all kinds of foot, and the local businessman buys me something at every stop. Anything from boiled corn over exotic berries to fried fish. I, on the other hand, are not allowed to buy anything! The six hours of driving passes as two, and when we reaches our destination we share farewells and whishes of good luck and safe travels, before setting off in different directions, probably, never to meet again…

Bonus info: Even though I’m in the other end of the world the minibus driver still had a cd with Aqua’s Baby Girl on it!

No. of bath Ask had have since the 16/7: 2