I arrived in Campeche at 6am. Its a UNESCO world heritage site so I was looking forward to it. I walked into town, but the hostel was not open yet so I decided to wander around the town. It kind of reminded me of a Mexican flavoured Charleston. You enter the old town through gates in the wall and then its just cobbled quiet streets. All of the houses are painted various different hues and c olours and it is very peaceful to stroll around in. I walked with my full backpack around the malecon, the waterfront and all through the old town. Very pretty and yet it seemd to lack life. I figured that I had seen the best bits and with Merida a better base for Uxmal I decided to push on to that city. At this point I was feeling a bit minging as I had just taken a night bus and not showered since San Cristobal. The bus staion did not help my mood. Instead of queueing for a ticket like normal they have implemented one of those ticket systems like they have in shoe shops, where you take the ticket and you wait your turn. Of course this means a lot of people miss their bus and a lot of people get upset. Luckily mine was late so I was just frustrated for having to wait for it. I hopped the bus to Merida and checked into the hostel for 3 nights. Having walked around I realised Campeche is prettier and less hustle and bustle. Traffic was problem in this city. In the hostel I met a couple of Canadians and spent the night drinking with them. There were also some other odd Canadians who were from Saskatchewan and really annoying. Including one who kept referring to to the English as 'you people' and 'your land' because she was frustrated other the partition of Pakistan and India. On this holiday I seem to be being blamed for all our hisotyr that happened before I was born. Conversation seemed to range from pissing outdoors, to underwear, to strange cross dressing Phillipinos. Interesting night. I kept smacking my head on everything in this city as well, whcih was frustrating. It was this evening that I was struck down with sickness from the bad melon I had eaten. I was pissing brown water out of my arse for days as my stomach rotted. I had to disappear to the bathroom every hour in agony and I am sure it annoyed my roommates. It also meant I did not sleep and so I abandoned my plans for Uxmal the next day.
I slept and rested into the afternoon. I had made myself forcibly sick the night before and what came out was black so that was not good. I was bad the next day, but at least I could move around by the afternoon. Later that day I went out to the mall on the outskirts of town to meet Ekatherina (a half Mexican/half Ukrainian couchsurfer). I thought she had said the mall was on calle 58 so ended up walking there for ages before I realised the bus was on this route, not the mall. She was cute and fun, with a good charismatic personality. We went back to her place and I met her family. They were nice and the nan cooked me some Ukrainian soup, though I could not eat too much due to my bad stomach. We then went and played pool and had some drinks (joking about her killing me and breaking my nose with a pool cue). We then met her friend and went to see a tribute band to the Beatles in the local theatre. Was good, though them singing with a Mexican accent was a bit odd at first. They missed off Come Together, Norwegian Wood, Eleanor Rigby, While My Guitar Gently Weeps and Strawberry Fields (The first 4 are my favourite 4 songs so that sucked a little). I think the Beatles are loved more outisde of England than in it and slowly the world is converting me to them. I am still clearly a Rolling Stones man though. The friendJavier drove an old school volkswagen beetle and that was cool, because you still twiddled a knob to move the windscreen wipers. We drove out to a house party on the outskirts of town and it was a cool crowd. I am still spreading the gospel of the holy four British comedys (Black Adder, Red Dwarf, Spaced and Garth Mareghi's Darkplace. Father Ted is next), because everyone seems to love them but never watch the best stuff. Ekatherina said she really wanted to meet up again and I did too. So it was kind of odd that I did not hear from her until ironically just now as I am writing these sentences. Fate has a funny trajectory. Seemd like a waste and I had already extended my stay to a fourth night in anticipation of catching up. Shame.
The next day I got up and walked to the plaza to meet the Canadians as we had arranged. I wanted to head out to the Cenotes and you need a group to barter down the price of the horse pulled rail carriage. Having not seen them I decided instead to do Uxmal, which I had planned on doing the day before. Merida was a city with a lot of fitness, including the cute desk operator at the other hostel. This almost seems obsolete now given Puerto Ricos locals, but still by Mexican standards it was a cute city.
At the bus station they sold me a ticket for a bus. This bus did not exist and we were informed over the tannoy in Spanish that there was a change. I did not hear it and probably would not have understood it anyway. So I find out half an hour later (I waited expecting it to be late) that it is not running and have to exchange my ticket. I had to pay an additional 21 pesos (half the ticket or so they claimed. The ticket was 41 originally, so it should be 20.50 and that sloppiness annoyed me more than it should, because I was pissed off at their skankiness and wanted to get rid of my useless 50 cent coin). Ah man I am getting tired typing this, my back hurts and the alcohol is wearing off. Also the kayboard just decided to turn my type italic. I was still crapping brown water and when I finished the site I was forced to wait ages for a return bus and pay a premium. All things considered you may as well take a tour. I saved around 10 pesos and inherited a lot of problems and stresses.
Uxmal itself was really pretty. I had been told by some people that it was the best of the Mayan sites. I disagree, I think its Tikal, but if you had come from the tourist fleapit that is Chitchen Itza then I can understand how this would be a great antidote. The ruins are made form pink rock on the whole which makes them different, they are well preserved (though you can't walk on a few of them) and they are crawling with large iguana style lizards that rustle away over the rocks. There was one scary climb up the only building you can really ascend, but I made it and this conquering of fear stuff was going really well. I think I was slowly becoming fearless and beginning to understand how over time you can develop fearlessnes. It made the clinmbers in 'Touching the Void' seem a little less nuts. There are also paths off into the middle of nowhere and you can wander through thr jungle vegetation to areas that not many tourists seem to head to. They are off the tours and deserted, though some water bottle suggest some other had passed through there. When I got back I witnessed the gayest boy band style preening in the main square, as seemingly a band of Mexican Cristiano Ronaldos gyrated and wiggled to the Backstreet Boys' 'Everybody Backstreets Back'. Ok it was better dancing than my effort on youtube, but we look less gay. Back in the hostel was an odd crowd, where I met a Finnish guy who I had met in Mexico City and was part of the group who went to see Ska-P. There was also an Aussie girl who had been diving over on the Mayan Riviera for her masters in marine biology. Was some odd conversation and then I turfed in.
In the morning I got up and the borwn water had been joined by atrocious gas problems. My bowls were like Chenobyl and in total meltdown. It was still strange, sad and annoying that I had not heard from Ekatherina and so I decided to head off and do the cenotes on my own. I had been assured by the Canadians that this was possible but hard. The slow pace at which all of the locals walked was still continuing to piss me off. I managed to grab a combi from just south of the market out to the nearby town for 14 pesos. I had heard that the trail was 10km over whcih the train cart ran and that it was 4km up to the entrance. The bicycle taxi man told me it was dangerous to walk alone and that it would cost 40 pesos to go the 4km. I laughed and ignored him. If a local says its dangerous I now see this as code for 'I am going to rip you off'. I walked up. Don't be fooled (I sound like a Denver road sign) by the sign for cenotes halfway up as its just a driveway into someones house. Not sure what they would attempt to sell me, but it seemed 'Deliverence' esque. Some locals then stopped me for directions. My chameleonic looks were working and Ekhaterina's family had noted how I could pass for local in a lot of places. Ah I am just coming back to this thing, sans beer and many weeks later. Now where was I. Some man offered me a random horse and when you eventually get to the village you have to hook a right to find the trail. If you are just following the railway tracks (makes sense) just head down the one that disappears into the wilderness. Another guy told me it was too dangerous as I set off the track, so I ognored him as well. Now its a 10km walk in each direction to the last of the cenotes but its a pleasant walk. The rail track is quite narrow and at some points too narrow for you to walk down at the same time as the horse carriages. I figured they must walk the horses through here, esepcially as they appeared to be not much bigger than ponies. Not so. They come steaming (well trotting) down the track pulling this antiquated old trailer thing. Its a bit like a cross between those old mining ore carts and one of those bicycle taxis you get in third world countries. Walking up these tracks ilicited murmurs from the drivers (I can only assume they were calling me a gypo in Spanish) and caused some of the horses to get startled (obviously not expecting some random fool to be walking down the tracks). Now the path is quite scenic, but I kept wondering whether I could find the exit for the cenotes myself. There was no need to worry as they are clearly demarcated and you can´t miss them. The cenotes are big holes in the ground caused by meteorites smacking into the earth´s surface. One of them is even believed to possibly be the cause for the extinction of the dinosaurs (not one of these ones though as they were small). Walking on your own instead of with one of the carts meant that I could spend as long as I wanted to at the pools. The guides usually give you around 15 minutes a hole. It also meant that I had a lot of the pools to myself. Most are descended from rickety wooden ladders into cool pools under the cavern roofs. Although one you can leap into. The first two were practically deserted and I could swim and float in these ethereal pools, bathing in the water and streaks of light that sliced through the cavern ceiling like lasers. After I had been to the first two there is a narrow gorge and I had to leap from the top at one point to avoid an incoming horse. A bit like Indiana Jones, only far less impressive. At the final hole I was looking forward to seeing the big one, but the place was crammed by about 2 million people. Me and this family sat at the top of an ultra rickety ladder while we watched about 60 people stream out of the hole. Most of them thoroughly incapable of the hand eye coordination necessary to utilise a ladder. Glad I was not down there with them and their inflatable crocodiles. When it eventually became my turn to descent, I scuttled down trying not to stand on the head of the kid in front. Suddenly a bang came from above as a video camera ricocheted off the rocks, missed my heads and plunged into the pool. An expensive fumble. It was just me and the family in the cenote. Me and one of the women from the family swam out all over the cave and to the beam of light at the far end. If you swam into it the cave lost light, but you were suddenyl bathed in a beautiful white light. It was cool to float around on your back here and although you can cave dive some of these in Tulum, my lack of a dive licence meant I had to enjoy the experience of swimming alone. I completed my long walk back, refreshed from the cooling water. A random woman offered me a shotgun ride on her motorbike, but I opted out. Having been on the back of Sean´s bike (a man whose crashed a lot of vehicles) and survived, I had realised that I only liked to ride if I was in control of the vehicle.
When I arrived back in the hostel that evening I met Peter again randomly in the kitchen. I knew there was a reasonable chance we would bump into each other here, but was surprised all the same. We went out and grabbed a cheap pizza, while we caught up on each others travels for the past 3 weeks. He confirmed I had not missed loads in Campeche and had also been invited to host a radio show in Bogota when he got there. Would be good to catch his tail again by then, as should make for an interesting story. I should mention here that I had abandoned my hiking shoes in Palenque and I was now left with only my battered trainers (need to change them up in Canada, or so I thought). The soul had completely disconnected from the rest of the shoes, as had the heel and the sorry shoes that Sergio had photographed finally gave up the ghost. In the morning I was up early and said goodbye to Peter over some weird toast, before grabbing a bus to Chitzen Itza. It was cross country sprint day.
The second class bus was rammed to the rafters and I realised I was going to have an uncomfortable second half to this journey. My preconceptions were that this would be good but overcrowded. Yet it surpassed on one and underperformed on the other. The frieses at Chitzen Itza were nice, but the place is spoilt somewhat by having all the ruins fenced off. I suppose it protects them, but it felt to me like I was on the ´baby teeth´ruins. Fuck me were their crowds though. The place was heaving and almost exclusively with tour groups. You can wander from the back of one to another and pick up snippets of the history. Having said that, there were an awful lot of very good looking tourists (beach worshippers on their requisite cultural experience) and the people watching was almost better than the ruins. At times all the crowds and the roped off areas felt like you were a sheep in 'One Man and his Dog' (to all you non Brits, thats a program where shepherds compete to see whose dog herds sheep into a pen best. Yeah its as exciting as it sounds). People everywhere were trying to sell me useless shit. 'Ten pesos or one dollar' is like the modern equivalent of those ancient Mayan chants. I am not buying any item for one dollar. If you can sell it for one dollar and make a profit it must be extremely crap. There is a really cool cenote here as well. Its about 10 times the size of the ones I was in the day before, actually maybe 20, but you cant swim in it, so its less cool. I grabbed a collectivo to the town of Valladolid to avoid the crowds. I had seen some German girls in Chitzen Itza waiting for a bus and saw them again as I boarded the bus in Valladolid. I had beat them to the town, but luckily still managed to get a seat. I would even see them again at the bus station and again in a restaurant. I think I was being stalked by these Germans, but they did not appear to be headed for the airport. Quickly logging in at a prohibitively expensive internet cafe where half the computers did not work (it had not occured to me until I had the same problem in Puerto Rico that some of the mice were set up for left handers) and learnt that Ollie had been on a wine tasting tour with the guy I hated most at school (Mr Nick Boyes). Though I am sure he´s improved a lot and that he seems to have a cool job as a tour organiser now. Still thats a weird twist of coincidence. I got to Cancun airport and noone appeared to be sleeping on the floor. Shit. I was not even sure if the airport was going to stay open all night, so I tried to look natural while scrunching into a fetus shape on the benches. I got limited sleep. Only in the middle of the night did I realise that my flight was going from an alternative terminal and I scooted across there to sleep rough as there appeared to be no guards around. In the morning I sorted out the formalities and for a trip that was to include no planes I was now flying to Miami on christmas eve.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Chiapas Part 2
I was back in Chiapas and would be in places I had been before for the next 4 days. On the plus side, these would be the last repeat visits on the trip. I got up in the morning and walked out to the Palenque ruins. This was a round trip of around 20km from the centre of town including the ruins themselves. I seemed to be in a walking mood. The lower entrance was closed which sucked, as I had walked it the other way round alst time. On my way in I walked past this huge pit with a log over the middle. I skipped it, but then in my new found conquering fear mood decided that I must take it on and on the way back crossed it. Another strike againts my fears. Palenque is more beautiful than most of the other ruins and a veritable must see. However I had seen it before and a lot of it was out of access this time. I mainly went to be able to compare it freshly with Tikal. Its prettier, but Tikal is immense.
When I got back to town I made my first ever attempt at hitchhiking and failed miserably. Damn it. I now want to go back and hitchhike Europe though as so many people seem to be able to achieve this easily. It costs a reasonable amount to take a tour to Misol Ha and Agua Azul, but eventually I stumbled across a combi van who would take me to the crossroads for 35 pesos. Nice. So I took the van out that way and was promptly told I needed a taxi down the hill because it was very dangerous. This seems to be the constant spiel so I ignored it and walked down. It is a little dangerous as there are no pavements and its a long walk, but nonetheless I made it. The bastard Zapatistas stopped me for another 10 pesos contribution (flleecing), but the plus side of walking is that you can ignore the official entrance. The guard whistled at me as I ducked through a side footpath, but I prentented I had not heard him and snuck in.
Agua Azul is a really pretty waterfall. Not as powerful and dynamic as El Chiflon, but it stretches across the river and cascades over itself in pools and drops of the clearest blue. Its so blue and very pretty. I decided I would hike to the source, which they suggested was a 50 minute hike. It took me 40 minutes at a good pace, so I think its more like an hour or so. I ended up far off the beaten track and walking through the jungle and forests on my own. The river and the cascades were my own. No tours, no people. Not even locals. Total serenity. I got to the end of that path and began to climb the stones for a better vantage point until I noticed giant cobwebs covering the area and abandoned my venture. So I decided to climb over the rocks and subsequently fell in the river. My shoes were soaked and clogged with crap as I seemd to fall into the only pool that was not crystal clear. On the way back it was pitch black and the road very dangerous as the cars came round blind. I had walked 50km in one day by the time I reached the top and was paranoid that no more buses would be running. I was 60km away from Palenque. Shit. 110km in one day was a lot even for me. I got to the top and walked into a shack. I asked if there was a bus and he said yes in one hour. So I settled down in the shack with the locals watching odd Mexican westerns on a rickety old television. Eventually the minivan arrived and I bundled in. There was no space so I stood hovering over some rugs until it slowly emptied one by one. I returned to my bed in the hospital ward hotel and crashed exhausted.
In the morning I caught a bus to San Cristobal De La Casas (or as Mike correctly pointed ourt from last time (San Chris De Burgh for the lady in red on the bus). On the bus I got the film Underdog (about a superman style dog) and a Dolph Lundgren film where he's a bad arse cop. It was like one of our bad film nights at home. I had been to San Cristobal before and think its a beautiful little colonial town, but after Guanajuato and Zacatecas it no longer looked as good. Still its very pretty and I climbed the long winding steps to the church on the hill for a good look and found a stray dog that I believe to be half wolf. On the way down I bought some bread and cheese and fed another stray dog. This dog then proceeded to follow me all over the city. In the hostel (that has a campfire at night to drink around and had been recommended by Michael) I found two Aussies who were travelling up Mexico (so I gave them this blog for ideas) and a German who was idewntical to Guy Pearce (very scarily identical). I kept thinking I was chatting with Guy Pearce. We grabbed some beers and went to watch a Zapatista film. I drifted in and out, because it was good but dull. They talked about the Zapatista movement and what it meant. They also said they had stoppped charging tourists money. Total bollocks as I had been done twice already. My friend sin Comitan had said how they figured the movement was cooked up by Marcos (an old school friend of the then president) to benefit both politically. I think it may have been conceived as a toursit boom. Noone went to Chiapas as tourists. So they create some new age Che Guevara for the hippy left students to come visit, ideolise and moronically worship. Voila. Tourists industry. Then again maybe its real. I got back to the hostel and we got smoke blown in some eyes by some Aussies drinking around the fire. I also got contacted by some random Argentine girl on couchsurfing with regards to London.
In the morning I got chatting with some ITESM students and a Mexican girl before grabbing a bus down to Comitan. I missed the original one getting my music fix and so was a little late. I got the Dolph Lundgren film again. Great that was definitely the one I wanted twice. I found a leflet for hostels on the Mayan trail. This was useful as te Central America Lonely Planet, covering the Yucatan had omitted the Yucatan. I had not realised this before I gave the Mexico one away so I had no guidebook for Campeche and Merida. I met Sally and Ana and dropped my stuff off at Ana's place. It was an immense old house covering an entire block with a courtyard in the middle. It was slightly crumbling around the edges, due to the huge cost in maintaining it, but this added to the historical attraction. I met the dog (who is nuts) and Ana's four year old daughter (we formed our own band with her on the marimba and me on the 5 stringed guitar). It was not great music, but it was fun times. Me and Ana went to this poetry reading in Spanish for the new arts centre they are putting together and we drank posh (lethally strong Mexican moonshine). All the locals wanted a bit in their fruit drink when it was known some was about and it felt like covert drug dealing. Afterwards the three of us went to a place called Wings, where a Mexican girl tried to set me up with her gay friend. I believe she was more my type than him. When we got to Anas the two of us stayed up drinking until one thing led to another and we ended up having fun for 5 hours. I was very tired in the morning, but had a very fun night. Still I had a night bus the next day and this would kill me. We grabbed breakfast the next day and debated the difficulty in everyday conversation with the fact that 'negro' means black in Spanish but is rather offensive in english.
I got a bus from Comitan to San Cristobal again and had to kill time until the evening before I took a night bus up to Campeche and into the Yucatan. In a restaurant opposite the bus station I ate some very bad rotten melon and this would kill me for days. The cheap bus was full as well so I had to pay 100 pesos more. Sucky.
When I got back to town I made my first ever attempt at hitchhiking and failed miserably. Damn it. I now want to go back and hitchhike Europe though as so many people seem to be able to achieve this easily. It costs a reasonable amount to take a tour to Misol Ha and Agua Azul, but eventually I stumbled across a combi van who would take me to the crossroads for 35 pesos. Nice. So I took the van out that way and was promptly told I needed a taxi down the hill because it was very dangerous. This seems to be the constant spiel so I ignored it and walked down. It is a little dangerous as there are no pavements and its a long walk, but nonetheless I made it. The bastard Zapatistas stopped me for another 10 pesos contribution (flleecing), but the plus side of walking is that you can ignore the official entrance. The guard whistled at me as I ducked through a side footpath, but I prentented I had not heard him and snuck in.
Agua Azul is a really pretty waterfall. Not as powerful and dynamic as El Chiflon, but it stretches across the river and cascades over itself in pools and drops of the clearest blue. Its so blue and very pretty. I decided I would hike to the source, which they suggested was a 50 minute hike. It took me 40 minutes at a good pace, so I think its more like an hour or so. I ended up far off the beaten track and walking through the jungle and forests on my own. The river and the cascades were my own. No tours, no people. Not even locals. Total serenity. I got to the end of that path and began to climb the stones for a better vantage point until I noticed giant cobwebs covering the area and abandoned my venture. So I decided to climb over the rocks and subsequently fell in the river. My shoes were soaked and clogged with crap as I seemd to fall into the only pool that was not crystal clear. On the way back it was pitch black and the road very dangerous as the cars came round blind. I had walked 50km in one day by the time I reached the top and was paranoid that no more buses would be running. I was 60km away from Palenque. Shit. 110km in one day was a lot even for me. I got to the top and walked into a shack. I asked if there was a bus and he said yes in one hour. So I settled down in the shack with the locals watching odd Mexican westerns on a rickety old television. Eventually the minivan arrived and I bundled in. There was no space so I stood hovering over some rugs until it slowly emptied one by one. I returned to my bed in the hospital ward hotel and crashed exhausted.
In the morning I caught a bus to San Cristobal De La Casas (or as Mike correctly pointed ourt from last time (San Chris De Burgh for the lady in red on the bus). On the bus I got the film Underdog (about a superman style dog) and a Dolph Lundgren film where he's a bad arse cop. It was like one of our bad film nights at home. I had been to San Cristobal before and think its a beautiful little colonial town, but after Guanajuato and Zacatecas it no longer looked as good. Still its very pretty and I climbed the long winding steps to the church on the hill for a good look and found a stray dog that I believe to be half wolf. On the way down I bought some bread and cheese and fed another stray dog. This dog then proceeded to follow me all over the city. In the hostel (that has a campfire at night to drink around and had been recommended by Michael) I found two Aussies who were travelling up Mexico (so I gave them this blog for ideas) and a German who was idewntical to Guy Pearce (very scarily identical). I kept thinking I was chatting with Guy Pearce. We grabbed some beers and went to watch a Zapatista film. I drifted in and out, because it was good but dull. They talked about the Zapatista movement and what it meant. They also said they had stoppped charging tourists money. Total bollocks as I had been done twice already. My friend sin Comitan had said how they figured the movement was cooked up by Marcos (an old school friend of the then president) to benefit both politically. I think it may have been conceived as a toursit boom. Noone went to Chiapas as tourists. So they create some new age Che Guevara for the hippy left students to come visit, ideolise and moronically worship. Voila. Tourists industry. Then again maybe its real. I got back to the hostel and we got smoke blown in some eyes by some Aussies drinking around the fire. I also got contacted by some random Argentine girl on couchsurfing with regards to London.
In the morning I got chatting with some ITESM students and a Mexican girl before grabbing a bus down to Comitan. I missed the original one getting my music fix and so was a little late. I got the Dolph Lundgren film again. Great that was definitely the one I wanted twice. I found a leflet for hostels on the Mayan trail. This was useful as te Central America Lonely Planet, covering the Yucatan had omitted the Yucatan. I had not realised this before I gave the Mexico one away so I had no guidebook for Campeche and Merida. I met Sally and Ana and dropped my stuff off at Ana's place. It was an immense old house covering an entire block with a courtyard in the middle. It was slightly crumbling around the edges, due to the huge cost in maintaining it, but this added to the historical attraction. I met the dog (who is nuts) and Ana's four year old daughter (we formed our own band with her on the marimba and me on the 5 stringed guitar). It was not great music, but it was fun times. Me and Ana went to this poetry reading in Spanish for the new arts centre they are putting together and we drank posh (lethally strong Mexican moonshine). All the locals wanted a bit in their fruit drink when it was known some was about and it felt like covert drug dealing. Afterwards the three of us went to a place called Wings, where a Mexican girl tried to set me up with her gay friend. I believe she was more my type than him. When we got to Anas the two of us stayed up drinking until one thing led to another and we ended up having fun for 5 hours. I was very tired in the morning, but had a very fun night. Still I had a night bus the next day and this would kill me. We grabbed breakfast the next day and debated the difficulty in everyday conversation with the fact that 'negro' means black in Spanish but is rather offensive in english.
I got a bus from Comitan to San Cristobal again and had to kill time until the evening before I took a night bus up to Campeche and into the Yucatan. In a restaurant opposite the bus station I ate some very bad rotten melon and this would kill me for days. The cheap bus was full as well so I had to pay 100 pesos more. Sucky.
Guatemala Part 4
Not sure how I left this blog and I am too lazy to go find out. I figured it was somewhere around Coban and given that I am in my last night in Puerto Rico its ironic that one of the problems dovetails. The door was impossible to open in Coban in the hotel. I felt like a cat burglar while I fondled around with the lock in search of an opening. Here in Puerto Rico my door is stiff and not cut to the right specifications so I have to shoulder charge it every time I want to open it.
In the morning, with the knowledge that I would have to return to Coban, I set off on my way to Flores. This involves traipsing through the rain to the bus station. Except my old book does not have the real bus station. That would be too simple. It has it where some market now stands. Bugger. I need an alternative. I ended up asking every individual how to get there as I did not trust one direction I received. Having traipsed all the way outside of town (without one bad direction to be fair) I found the bus station, was accosted by a moustached man and sucked onto a bus for Sayxiche. I did not know why I could not go all the way to Flores originally, but then i found out there is a river in the way. Makes sense. I had made the mistake that morning of wearing the shorts with one pocket so I had to load everything bar my mp3 player on the right side. During the bus ride my mp3 player would slide from my pocket and the little shit next to me would steal it. I disembarked from the bus and searched for the player. Shit. It was gone. The bus guys looked all over and the ferry crossed without me. I accepted my fate reluctanty and decided to board the next ferry which cost 2 quetzals. I had one. Shit. I promised him the other one when I bought some water. On the other side I bought a bag of water for a quetzal (despite them trying to sell me coke for 5) and tried to give the quetzal back to the boatman who had left. I tried to get one of the locals to take it for him, but they kept telling me the boat cost 2 quetzals. I knew this. Another guy wanted me to get on the bus and was saying I was a stupid tourist. First of all, I owed this quetzal and had promised it. Second of all I understood the stupid bus drivers ranting and eventually the stupid idiot next to the road took the coin. Promise fulfilled. Next stop a new bus to Flores, where I was promptly seated next to the same little shit who stole my mp3 player. Only I had no proof. I asked him in Spanish if he had seen it and he said no. Liar. Could read it in his eyes. Later on he would get his own crap music player out and use it. I was not sure if he was taunting me or trying to proove that he already had one, but he shifted uncomfortably as I imagined the various ways I could hurt him with my empty can of grape juice.
On arriving in Flores I was told I needed a taxi again when I asked for directions. Where are the tramps when you need them. Losing music I must say is criminal. I find myself sneaking into internete cafes like an addict and playing music from youtube to stay sane. Only tonight I was down my local with the jukebox singing away like some drunk in the corner. Hopefully I get reinforcements in Canada. I got onto the little island of Flores, which involves a prettyu walk over a small bridge (bike taxis run the length of this bridge for people so lazy they can't even walk 200m). I also had Pollo Campero for the first time (Guatemalan KFC) and it was good if somewhat confusing as its a fast food restaurant with table service. Was not sure whether to tip or not, so did not bother as Guatemala was expensive enough as it is. The hostel was a funky little place and I met the Aussie Michael again. We went out for drinks and caught up with regard to our last couple of weeks. While drinking on the waterfront Samuel turned up randomly (guy from Pacaya) with a friend of his (she had travelled South America for a year and swapped tips). The four of us drank for a while before heading our seperate ways. Michael down to Guatemala City and Samuel down the back route to Coban.
The bus to Tikal had several start time beginning from 5am. Fuck that. I had to get up that time the next day and was not doing 2 in a row. I opted for 8am and work up for some food. The restaurant only does vegetarian food, but the portions are huge and the quality is good. I found a Portuguese guy, a South Korean descended adopted Norwegian and eventually a crazy Yankee old guy to go to Tikal with. It now costs 15 quid to get in, which is a lot, but its still worth it. This country was proving very expensive.
All three of the guys I travelled with had some interesting stories. The Norwegian girl had been travelling and partying with her friend in Cuba and had opted to go home when her friend wanted to continuepartying with some random Cuban guys. Her friend made the mistake of trusting these randoms and ended up with broken ribs, concussion and being robbed and gang raped by seven Cuban guys in the streets of Havana. A nasty wake up call and one that has severely traumatised her friend afterwardcs and altered the whole dynamics of their trip. The Portuguese travellers story has been rudely interrupted by my incompetent keyboard that has decided to boot me out. Oddly this enabled me to discover I have two robo posts in my comments section. Good to know random advertsising software viruses are enjoying my blog. Annyway. He was arrested in a drugs bust in New York City and detained overnight in the cells while they searched an entire apartment block. More impressive than our Yankee cop run ins. The American guy was just odd and had built himself an undeground log cabin in the middle of Arizona and now lives in it along with some people who live in pods and all of them are beatnik conspiracy theorists. Made for an interesting group, though at least the Norwegian girl shared my jadedness when it came to tortillas. I needed a break from them.
Despite being hideously expensive Tikal is very very impressive. Some of the other Mayan ruins are prettier but nothing beats the vastness and setting of Tikal. Its famous for a reason. In the middle of the jungle, it is miles from any form of civilisation and even at my blistering pace the site took 7 hours to cover and see everything. We came into the main plaza and found out you could not climb anything. I had been told by someone that there were some scary wooden steps up the side of one of the temples. I saw some wooden steps, but they were not scary. I thought these people were nuts. Then on temple 4 we found them. A vertical wooden ladder straight up 55m. That would stretch my fear of heights. I made it though and all of us collectively shit ourselves at the top. Except for the Yankee. He maintained too many years of smoking weed made it impossible for him to climb. I reckon he was afraid. Ah the sounds of the horn of the cruise ship of my lateste travelling buddies can be heard drifting or rather blasting across San Juan. When you climb temple 4 you get a breathtaking panorama. It is around 60 something metres high and when you sit at the top you see nothing but jungle for miles and miles in everhy direction. It is only punctuated by the tops of the other temples jacknifing out of the trees. It must have been phneomenal when they first found this and I imagine that they must have seen it by helicopter as they just saw stone springing from the jungle. Ancient civilisation bursting from natures bowels. The place just hums with wildlife as well. We saw and watched spider monkeys playing in the trees and dropping nuts, while the native anteater things walked around the site. I sadly did not see and Chacalacas though. It was a good day out and when we got back we grabbed dinner before I made an attempt to see how much a tour agent wanted to get to Palenque. I was quoted 110 dollars including Yanixchilan and 80 dollars to make Frontera Corozal on the border. What total fucking shit. Though they almost convinced me it was dangerous and impossible. Yet I was not paying that much.
In the morning I was up at the crack of dawn and walked through the dark to the bus station. Apparently tyhis is dangerous. I saw no problems. Oh yeah Flores is a tiny little island swarming with tourists, but for some reason the few locals that are there are very good looking. I got on a bus at 5am for La Tecnica on the border with Mexico. The guy outside kept yelling random destinations that were not La Tecnica so I kept reassuring myself by asking the other passengers. This bus part cost me 50 quetzals I think. It was howevere a really rickety old bus. Dangerous it was not, though cold it was at times, because the window was constantly sliding open of its own accord. I slept while there was no light and woke up still not sure I was headed in the right direction. The ride was like that of a cool old school rollercoaster. It went through swamps, drove through flooded areas of road, bounced down bumpy roads and I saw plenty of wildlife while it looped around on its way to the border. They dropped off at immigration so I could stamp myself out. The shack in the middle of nowhere was empty for ages, while the one guard contemplated rousing himself to stamp me out. Once this formality was over it looped round to La Tecnica where I was dropped off at the waters edge. Dangerous my arse. I was then quoted 20 quetzlas for the boat crossing on the side. On the boat I was quoted 15 and eventually I was charged 10, the same as other locals. A bit of Spanish goes a long way. The boat ride was a lancha (like a long rowing boat with a motor) along the river and then across the current. Nothing stopping you from falling in, but you feel like and actor in one of those Vietnal war films. Tikal can be a bit like that, with its jungle setting and the strange bird that makes noises like the Predator.
On the Mexico side in Frontera Corozal I had breakfast in the Jaguar Inn (where me and Mike had stayed last time when we failed to cross the border). I did not bother registering with immigration as I did not want to pay again and walked to the bus station as I knew where it was and taxis were expensive. I even tried to change up my 50 questzals but was only offered 62.50 pesos. If this happens to you take it as I ended up trading for 50 in Palenque (half its face value). The stupid Zapatistas tried to charge me 15 pesos for entering their space, but I lied and said I only had 10 so I had to pay nothing. Bastards. On the way to Palenque by bus we were stopped by the police. There were 12 of us in the van. Shit, I had not bothered with my immigration stamp. The policeman thought I was Mexican, but I told him English and showed him my stamped white papers from Tijuana. Fuck I should have stamped in. Luckily he said nothing and told me to have a good time. The fact I was not officially registered in the country seemed to be no problem for Cancun airport either. My fellow busketeers were not so lucky, with five of them arrested for being illegal Guatemalan immigrants. Hmm shitty for them, but I know had more leg room. I arrived in Palenque and booked into a cheap hotel for 2 nights. It was cheap, but the sheets were plastic like and I kept sticking to them when I slept. The plans for Haiti seemed to be coming together as well although this would seem to be constantly coming together and then falling apart.
In the morning, with the knowledge that I would have to return to Coban, I set off on my way to Flores. This involves traipsing through the rain to the bus station. Except my old book does not have the real bus station. That would be too simple. It has it where some market now stands. Bugger. I need an alternative. I ended up asking every individual how to get there as I did not trust one direction I received. Having traipsed all the way outside of town (without one bad direction to be fair) I found the bus station, was accosted by a moustached man and sucked onto a bus for Sayxiche. I did not know why I could not go all the way to Flores originally, but then i found out there is a river in the way. Makes sense. I had made the mistake that morning of wearing the shorts with one pocket so I had to load everything bar my mp3 player on the right side. During the bus ride my mp3 player would slide from my pocket and the little shit next to me would steal it. I disembarked from the bus and searched for the player. Shit. It was gone. The bus guys looked all over and the ferry crossed without me. I accepted my fate reluctanty and decided to board the next ferry which cost 2 quetzals. I had one. Shit. I promised him the other one when I bought some water. On the other side I bought a bag of water for a quetzal (despite them trying to sell me coke for 5) and tried to give the quetzal back to the boatman who had left. I tried to get one of the locals to take it for him, but they kept telling me the boat cost 2 quetzals. I knew this. Another guy wanted me to get on the bus and was saying I was a stupid tourist. First of all, I owed this quetzal and had promised it. Second of all I understood the stupid bus drivers ranting and eventually the stupid idiot next to the road took the coin. Promise fulfilled. Next stop a new bus to Flores, where I was promptly seated next to the same little shit who stole my mp3 player. Only I had no proof. I asked him in Spanish if he had seen it and he said no. Liar. Could read it in his eyes. Later on he would get his own crap music player out and use it. I was not sure if he was taunting me or trying to proove that he already had one, but he shifted uncomfortably as I imagined the various ways I could hurt him with my empty can of grape juice.
On arriving in Flores I was told I needed a taxi again when I asked for directions. Where are the tramps when you need them. Losing music I must say is criminal. I find myself sneaking into internete cafes like an addict and playing music from youtube to stay sane. Only tonight I was down my local with the jukebox singing away like some drunk in the corner. Hopefully I get reinforcements in Canada. I got onto the little island of Flores, which involves a prettyu walk over a small bridge (bike taxis run the length of this bridge for people so lazy they can't even walk 200m). I also had Pollo Campero for the first time (Guatemalan KFC) and it was good if somewhat confusing as its a fast food restaurant with table service. Was not sure whether to tip or not, so did not bother as Guatemala was expensive enough as it is. The hostel was a funky little place and I met the Aussie Michael again. We went out for drinks and caught up with regard to our last couple of weeks. While drinking on the waterfront Samuel turned up randomly (guy from Pacaya) with a friend of his (she had travelled South America for a year and swapped tips). The four of us drank for a while before heading our seperate ways. Michael down to Guatemala City and Samuel down the back route to Coban.
The bus to Tikal had several start time beginning from 5am. Fuck that. I had to get up that time the next day and was not doing 2 in a row. I opted for 8am and work up for some food. The restaurant only does vegetarian food, but the portions are huge and the quality is good. I found a Portuguese guy, a South Korean descended adopted Norwegian and eventually a crazy Yankee old guy to go to Tikal with. It now costs 15 quid to get in, which is a lot, but its still worth it. This country was proving very expensive.
All three of the guys I travelled with had some interesting stories. The Norwegian girl had been travelling and partying with her friend in Cuba and had opted to go home when her friend wanted to continuepartying with some random Cuban guys. Her friend made the mistake of trusting these randoms and ended up with broken ribs, concussion and being robbed and gang raped by seven Cuban guys in the streets of Havana. A nasty wake up call and one that has severely traumatised her friend afterwardcs and altered the whole dynamics of their trip. The Portuguese travellers story has been rudely interrupted by my incompetent keyboard that has decided to boot me out. Oddly this enabled me to discover I have two robo posts in my comments section. Good to know random advertsising software viruses are enjoying my blog. Annyway. He was arrested in a drugs bust in New York City and detained overnight in the cells while they searched an entire apartment block. More impressive than our Yankee cop run ins. The American guy was just odd and had built himself an undeground log cabin in the middle of Arizona and now lives in it along with some people who live in pods and all of them are beatnik conspiracy theorists. Made for an interesting group, though at least the Norwegian girl shared my jadedness when it came to tortillas. I needed a break from them.
Despite being hideously expensive Tikal is very very impressive. Some of the other Mayan ruins are prettier but nothing beats the vastness and setting of Tikal. Its famous for a reason. In the middle of the jungle, it is miles from any form of civilisation and even at my blistering pace the site took 7 hours to cover and see everything. We came into the main plaza and found out you could not climb anything. I had been told by someone that there were some scary wooden steps up the side of one of the temples. I saw some wooden steps, but they were not scary. I thought these people were nuts. Then on temple 4 we found them. A vertical wooden ladder straight up 55m. That would stretch my fear of heights. I made it though and all of us collectively shit ourselves at the top. Except for the Yankee. He maintained too many years of smoking weed made it impossible for him to climb. I reckon he was afraid. Ah the sounds of the horn of the cruise ship of my lateste travelling buddies can be heard drifting or rather blasting across San Juan. When you climb temple 4 you get a breathtaking panorama. It is around 60 something metres high and when you sit at the top you see nothing but jungle for miles and miles in everhy direction. It is only punctuated by the tops of the other temples jacknifing out of the trees. It must have been phneomenal when they first found this and I imagine that they must have seen it by helicopter as they just saw stone springing from the jungle. Ancient civilisation bursting from natures bowels. The place just hums with wildlife as well. We saw and watched spider monkeys playing in the trees and dropping nuts, while the native anteater things walked around the site. I sadly did not see and Chacalacas though. It was a good day out and when we got back we grabbed dinner before I made an attempt to see how much a tour agent wanted to get to Palenque. I was quoted 110 dollars including Yanixchilan and 80 dollars to make Frontera Corozal on the border. What total fucking shit. Though they almost convinced me it was dangerous and impossible. Yet I was not paying that much.
In the morning I was up at the crack of dawn and walked through the dark to the bus station. Apparently tyhis is dangerous. I saw no problems. Oh yeah Flores is a tiny little island swarming with tourists, but for some reason the few locals that are there are very good looking. I got on a bus at 5am for La Tecnica on the border with Mexico. The guy outside kept yelling random destinations that were not La Tecnica so I kept reassuring myself by asking the other passengers. This bus part cost me 50 quetzals I think. It was howevere a really rickety old bus. Dangerous it was not, though cold it was at times, because the window was constantly sliding open of its own accord. I slept while there was no light and woke up still not sure I was headed in the right direction. The ride was like that of a cool old school rollercoaster. It went through swamps, drove through flooded areas of road, bounced down bumpy roads and I saw plenty of wildlife while it looped around on its way to the border. They dropped off at immigration so I could stamp myself out. The shack in the middle of nowhere was empty for ages, while the one guard contemplated rousing himself to stamp me out. Once this formality was over it looped round to La Tecnica where I was dropped off at the waters edge. Dangerous my arse. I was then quoted 20 quetzlas for the boat crossing on the side. On the boat I was quoted 15 and eventually I was charged 10, the same as other locals. A bit of Spanish goes a long way. The boat ride was a lancha (like a long rowing boat with a motor) along the river and then across the current. Nothing stopping you from falling in, but you feel like and actor in one of those Vietnal war films. Tikal can be a bit like that, with its jungle setting and the strange bird that makes noises like the Predator.
On the Mexico side in Frontera Corozal I had breakfast in the Jaguar Inn (where me and Mike had stayed last time when we failed to cross the border). I did not bother registering with immigration as I did not want to pay again and walked to the bus station as I knew where it was and taxis were expensive. I even tried to change up my 50 questzals but was only offered 62.50 pesos. If this happens to you take it as I ended up trading for 50 in Palenque (half its face value). The stupid Zapatistas tried to charge me 15 pesos for entering their space, but I lied and said I only had 10 so I had to pay nothing. Bastards. On the way to Palenque by bus we were stopped by the police. There were 12 of us in the van. Shit, I had not bothered with my immigration stamp. The policeman thought I was Mexican, but I told him English and showed him my stamped white papers from Tijuana. Fuck I should have stamped in. Luckily he said nothing and told me to have a good time. The fact I was not officially registered in the country seemed to be no problem for Cancun airport either. My fellow busketeers were not so lucky, with five of them arrested for being illegal Guatemalan immigrants. Hmm shitty for them, but I know had more leg room. I arrived in Palenque and booked into a cheap hotel for 2 nights. It was cheap, but the sheets were plastic like and I kept sticking to them when I slept. The plans for Haiti seemed to be coming together as well although this would seem to be constantly coming together and then falling apart.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Guatemala Part 3
Just before I left I was accosted in a long Spanish conversation by an evangelical doorman at my hotel. Was good fun to practice. I had heard Guatemala City was very dangerous so I was a little apprehensive about my arrival. Then again I weighed it up. The average Guatemalan was almost a foot shorter than me and about 70 pounds or so lighter. If I worked it the other way that would be like me going up against the wrestler the Undertaker. Now he is big. Even with a knife I would not feel certain of coming off. Would need a gun. Good I thought. They will need a gun to rob me, so I should be ok most of the time. I also look like a hobo so thats in my favour. I grabbed a chicken bus from Antigua and got thrown into the railings as it accelerated. Bruised my thigh, which I noticed when I tried to walk places. As we drove in we passed a Guatemalan hooters and various built up areas. It looked nice. They dropped me off in zone 3 (this is apparently a very dangerous area, but in the day it looked ok and I had no trouble, just strange looks lol). I walked with full backpack to zone 10 and met Paulina for drinks. She's a really cool individual. We have good chemistry as she talks a lot and is witty and it was fairly easy going. LAter we would be late to meet Pampa (who was my host) and we carried on drinking. He is ambassador for all of the city and has been a member for 4 years. I think its got almost blaise for him now. Paulina crashed the car on the way back, but I only got a bruised shin and everyone was ok. Back at Pampa's I cooked up some bland spaghetti (did not have my usual tools and it was too dry) and we chatted about film before getting some sleep.
Guatemala City is a surprisingly pretty city with tree lined avenues and public spaces with little monuments. At some points it even has the draping trees of a Savannah. It also felt good to be back in a real city with hardly any tourists and not some tourist ridden tiny town. In the morning I walked down to zone 1 but realised I was running a little late to meet Georgina. I dashed back across town and met her for lunch and some drinks. Cute girl, we had a good and brief time talking on random things. Then I met Paulina again for the childrens museum (which we were not allowed to enter) so we headed to a textiles museum. Would like to have done the history museum, but Pampa said it was a rip off for tourists. We had a lot more drinks, before joining Pampa, Sylvia and two couchsurfers from the States. Paulina eventually had to go so we kissed goodbye, though she was still feeling guilty about not paying for the pizza. I stayed chatting with Sylvia, while the Yankee girl went home sick and Pampa and the Yankee guy tried their luck with some locals. I spent way way way too much money on beer that night and we all got back to the house to crash for the evening. In the morning I woke up with a mild hangover and went to grab a bus up to Coban. Hopefully can do a weekend with them all in Rio Dulce but timing may be an issue with that.
The ride up was long and cramped, but fun as they usually are in minibuses. Back in Guatemala City I had actually found me someone who sold bags of water for 1 quetzal. Awesome, though bank security guards were pricks in not letting me use their machines. I arrived in Coban (a mountain town similar to Xalapa in climate) and not having any money to go on to Lanquin I stayed here for two nights. I should have pushed on, but I figured I could do the caves etc in a day trip. It meant sleeping early (which I failed to do) and getting up early (which I did), but I was shot down by a storm. Could not leave early and would not have made it. My cautious side for once overcame my reckless side (but not without a fight) and I figured I would come back in february. I walked up the hill to a nice temple and entered a national park for a walk in the rain before I decided to update the blog as I now had time lol. Seems like a waste of a day, but its a miserable day to waste and I have tv in this place. Will leave early tomorrow for Flores and Tikal before heading back towards Mexico. May even stay only one night if I leave early tomorrow. Enjoyed Guatemala, but have to do here properly, Livingston, Rio Dulce, Atitlan and see Ana in the south west when I come back in february. Don't imagine anything else exciting will happen today so next update will be on Tikal and how it compares to Palenque.
Guatemala City is a surprisingly pretty city with tree lined avenues and public spaces with little monuments. At some points it even has the draping trees of a Savannah. It also felt good to be back in a real city with hardly any tourists and not some tourist ridden tiny town. In the morning I walked down to zone 1 but realised I was running a little late to meet Georgina. I dashed back across town and met her for lunch and some drinks. Cute girl, we had a good and brief time talking on random things. Then I met Paulina again for the childrens museum (which we were not allowed to enter) so we headed to a textiles museum. Would like to have done the history museum, but Pampa said it was a rip off for tourists. We had a lot more drinks, before joining Pampa, Sylvia and two couchsurfers from the States. Paulina eventually had to go so we kissed goodbye, though she was still feeling guilty about not paying for the pizza. I stayed chatting with Sylvia, while the Yankee girl went home sick and Pampa and the Yankee guy tried their luck with some locals. I spent way way way too much money on beer that night and we all got back to the house to crash for the evening. In the morning I woke up with a mild hangover and went to grab a bus up to Coban. Hopefully can do a weekend with them all in Rio Dulce but timing may be an issue with that.
The ride up was long and cramped, but fun as they usually are in minibuses. Back in Guatemala City I had actually found me someone who sold bags of water for 1 quetzal. Awesome, though bank security guards were pricks in not letting me use their machines. I arrived in Coban (a mountain town similar to Xalapa in climate) and not having any money to go on to Lanquin I stayed here for two nights. I should have pushed on, but I figured I could do the caves etc in a day trip. It meant sleeping early (which I failed to do) and getting up early (which I did), but I was shot down by a storm. Could not leave early and would not have made it. My cautious side for once overcame my reckless side (but not without a fight) and I figured I would come back in february. I walked up the hill to a nice temple and entered a national park for a walk in the rain before I decided to update the blog as I now had time lol. Seems like a waste of a day, but its a miserable day to waste and I have tv in this place. Will leave early tomorrow for Flores and Tikal before heading back towards Mexico. May even stay only one night if I leave early tomorrow. Enjoyed Guatemala, but have to do here properly, Livingston, Rio Dulce, Atitlan and see Ana in the south west when I come back in february. Don't imagine anything else exciting will happen today so next update will be on Tikal and how it compares to Palenque.
Guatemala Part 2
I took a bus over to Chimaltenango where there was some cute jailbait ala Paris 2003. I had to go this way to Antigua and I am finding it difficult to read my bumpy writing. At the changeover I had to leap out of the back of the bus. There was also a sign that read 'Yo vendo una manzana'. Hmm they sell only one apple. That must be a very profitable business or it must be such a phenomenal apple only one a day can be sold. Maybe its the same apple brand that Adam and Eve ate. The ticket collector on the bus was like some sort of Guatemalan Indiana Jones. He was hanging out the side door, up on the roof and at one point hanging onto the back of the bus. All for seemingly no real purpose other than he enjoyed it. I arrived in Antigua (its half the size of Watford. Xela is the second city and it only has 120,000 people). Its also full of tourists. I booked into a hotel rather than a hostel stupidly as I thought I was meeting Paulina, but she had difficulty getting across. They offered it to me for 80 quetzals. I thought that was cheap for 3 nights, then found out it was for one and stormed out. They offered me 40 per night. I took it, but you know a place is a rip off when you can get 50% discount. In fact that entire city seems designed to fleece tourists. Its very pretty, very safe, but my god is it the biggest rip off of a tourist trap since Havana. In the end I went out drinking solo because of the plans falling through. There was a private party in one place and three girls in lycra had been recruited to get people through the door. It was not working like it should have. This is where I discovered how expensive beer is in Guatemala and how depressing solo drinking is. I don't know how Francois manages it all the time. Maybe in Yankeeland, but would be difficult at home.
In the morning I did my washing and walked around the town. Good looking place, but Xela was much better. I found out the quetzal used to be 15:1. That was depressing and no wonder the place was expensive. Learnt a bit more Spanish and concocted a mad plan with a girl Ana who lives in the south west of the country. We must hire a 4x4, some police, get some guns and head off into the countryside to design a tourist plan for the region. We must also exchange dancing lessons. Some bad country dancing for some good Guatemalan stuff and have a drinking session away from the tourist towns. Sounded like it could be interesting. I would trade assistance for a travel buddy. Will see how it goes. The local police are also called PMT which amused me. In the evening there was a big party/music event in the main square. They had a sub par Metallica band, some traditional dancing and the damn National Orchestra were stalking me again. They seemed to find me everywhere and torment me with their christmas songs. There was even a band doing guantanamera in the streets. Fireworks would go off like daisy cutter, contravening any European safety law and big explosions would set off a domino effect on the car alarms. While watching one of the traditional dances some old man wandered up. I could not tell if he was a tramp or a relation of one of the dancers as he kept yelling stuff like 'get in there with that guy' and 'hey yeah marijuana' in spanish. I was leaning towards embarassing granddad until the marijuana comment. Now I reckon randy old tramp.
In the morning I was woken up by drumming. A parade was happening in the street. It was 4 parts advertising to each part band. Power was down all over the city so I could not grab a shower and the internet kept cutting out on me, which was really trying my patience. I was probably as pissed off as I had been on my trìp and booked myself on a volcano tour. I felt like I was going to explode myself. On the tour was a big Dutch group on an organised tour. This would be the first tour I went on in 4 months of travelling so it would be an interesting experience as I had always shunned them. I was given warnings about Guatemala City (how they were told to not even leave the bus) and Haiti. The Guetamala City ones proved to be bullshit so will see on Haiti. There was a Swedish old guy on the tour who was cool, a Yankee named Samuel who I had a good chat with, some fitness from wherever who had to take horses, a big burly hiking man and the Dutch. The group would prove to be too big and unwieldy, with far too wide a range in fitness. There were constant seperations and we had to wait for long periods (especially once the horses could go no further). I was not sure how my vertigo would cope and we were to descend in the dark and I had no flashlight. The first part was relatively simple and not to strenuous, but once we got to the base of the cone it was a hard scramble. We were climbing through dust and over rocks and scrambling with hands and feet up rocky outcrops that slid out from underneath you as fats as you climbed. I was at the back of the front pack and subsequently felt like I was doing the rock scramnling version of the travelator in Gladiators. As we climbed we could see the lava stream inthe distance and every few minutes a fiery boulder would be lobbed down the side of the mountain. The drop was not sheer, but the rocks were jagged and a slip could be fatal. Halfway up I lost my bottle. Not in an Arthurs Seat way for those who were there. I literally lost my bottle. It must have fallen out of my pocket. Someone else would later throw it in the lava and watch it explode. Once we eventually reached as high as you could go the heat was intense. The guide set a walking stick on fire by poking it into the lava and it was pretty watching the intense orange lava flow over the rocks. Then we got a beautiful sunset and had to descent down the rockslide in the dusk. A few people were sliding all over the place, more sliding than walking, with mini landslides and our shoes full of dust and rocks. One dutch girl just caught herself from tumbling backwards over the side. It was a mildly hairy descent. When we got back to the bus and headed back the burly guy put on a tape of music including 'George Michael', 'Chris De Burgh' and 'Celine Dion'. This could not have been his choice. Really it should not have been anyones. I began to think he must have a real dodgy taste when the song from Ghost finally persuaded him to switch over to reggaeton. Thank god for that. My thoughts on tours are that you get some company (albeit mainly generic) and your logistics are sorted for you. On the downside they cost more and you have to suffer 40 gurning fools taking the same fucking photo at the destination. Damn them. I am even more glad I don't have a camera. Overall I think its not worth it as I am shit hot at logistics and have no problems making friends. I will recruit them at hostels and do the logistics myself where possible. Like Hieve del Agua and Fuentes Goerginas. In the morning it was off to Guatemala City
In the morning I did my washing and walked around the town. Good looking place, but Xela was much better. I found out the quetzal used to be 15:1. That was depressing and no wonder the place was expensive. Learnt a bit more Spanish and concocted a mad plan with a girl Ana who lives in the south west of the country. We must hire a 4x4, some police, get some guns and head off into the countryside to design a tourist plan for the region. We must also exchange dancing lessons. Some bad country dancing for some good Guatemalan stuff and have a drinking session away from the tourist towns. Sounded like it could be interesting. I would trade assistance for a travel buddy. Will see how it goes. The local police are also called PMT which amused me. In the evening there was a big party/music event in the main square. They had a sub par Metallica band, some traditional dancing and the damn National Orchestra were stalking me again. They seemed to find me everywhere and torment me with their christmas songs. There was even a band doing guantanamera in the streets. Fireworks would go off like daisy cutter, contravening any European safety law and big explosions would set off a domino effect on the car alarms. While watching one of the traditional dances some old man wandered up. I could not tell if he was a tramp or a relation of one of the dancers as he kept yelling stuff like 'get in there with that guy' and 'hey yeah marijuana' in spanish. I was leaning towards embarassing granddad until the marijuana comment. Now I reckon randy old tramp.
In the morning I was woken up by drumming. A parade was happening in the street. It was 4 parts advertising to each part band. Power was down all over the city so I could not grab a shower and the internet kept cutting out on me, which was really trying my patience. I was probably as pissed off as I had been on my trìp and booked myself on a volcano tour. I felt like I was going to explode myself. On the tour was a big Dutch group on an organised tour. This would be the first tour I went on in 4 months of travelling so it would be an interesting experience as I had always shunned them. I was given warnings about Guatemala City (how they were told to not even leave the bus) and Haiti. The Guetamala City ones proved to be bullshit so will see on Haiti. There was a Swedish old guy on the tour who was cool, a Yankee named Samuel who I had a good chat with, some fitness from wherever who had to take horses, a big burly hiking man and the Dutch. The group would prove to be too big and unwieldy, with far too wide a range in fitness. There were constant seperations and we had to wait for long periods (especially once the horses could go no further). I was not sure how my vertigo would cope and we were to descend in the dark and I had no flashlight. The first part was relatively simple and not to strenuous, but once we got to the base of the cone it was a hard scramble. We were climbing through dust and over rocks and scrambling with hands and feet up rocky outcrops that slid out from underneath you as fats as you climbed. I was at the back of the front pack and subsequently felt like I was doing the rock scramnling version of the travelator in Gladiators. As we climbed we could see the lava stream inthe distance and every few minutes a fiery boulder would be lobbed down the side of the mountain. The drop was not sheer, but the rocks were jagged and a slip could be fatal. Halfway up I lost my bottle. Not in an Arthurs Seat way for those who were there. I literally lost my bottle. It must have fallen out of my pocket. Someone else would later throw it in the lava and watch it explode. Once we eventually reached as high as you could go the heat was intense. The guide set a walking stick on fire by poking it into the lava and it was pretty watching the intense orange lava flow over the rocks. Then we got a beautiful sunset and had to descent down the rockslide in the dusk. A few people were sliding all over the place, more sliding than walking, with mini landslides and our shoes full of dust and rocks. One dutch girl just caught herself from tumbling backwards over the side. It was a mildly hairy descent. When we got back to the bus and headed back the burly guy put on a tape of music including 'George Michael', 'Chris De Burgh' and 'Celine Dion'. This could not have been his choice. Really it should not have been anyones. I began to think he must have a real dodgy taste when the song from Ghost finally persuaded him to switch over to reggaeton. Thank god for that. My thoughts on tours are that you get some company (albeit mainly generic) and your logistics are sorted for you. On the downside they cost more and you have to suffer 40 gurning fools taking the same fucking photo at the destination. Damn them. I am even more glad I don't have a camera. Overall I think its not worth it as I am shit hot at logistics and have no problems making friends. I will recruit them at hostels and do the logistics myself where possible. Like Hieve del Agua and Fuentes Goerginas. In the morning it was off to Guatemala City
Guatemala Part 1
I arrived in Huehuetenango and crashed there for the night rather than pushing on. My 10 day tour of Guatemala was ambitious and I kind of saw half of what I wanted and due to the storm outside, one more place would have to be visited in february. I saw the feather hatted man again in Huehue as well. He seemed to be everywhere (well Comitan) as well. In the morning I met some German photographer who was surprised I did not have a camera and I headed off to Quetzeltenango (Xela). Now typing the places, I can understand why they shortened the names. There are a lot of good looking people in Guatemala, but it is not cheap. Its pegged to the dollar, which does not help, but food and drink are almost comparable to London in price. Transport and accomodation however are significantly cheaper. Its a very pretty country full of rugged green mountains and we weaved around sharp bends on our way to Xela. Bus drivers here are also insane. They speed all the time and commonly make reckless manouvres like overtaking two long vehicles on the outside on a one lane road blindly on the outside of a steep curve. Or diving through a nonexistant gap with a three way race, stone walls on either side. Man they are nuts here. I got chatting with a Guatemalan guy on the bus, who thought England was part of the US. We chatted a fair bit in Spanish and I used my dictionary to help myself. They get 45 quetzals a day minimum wage. In Mexico its 45 pesos. So with the exchange rates of 11:1 and 20:1 it looks like Guatemala is a better place to work officially anyway.
In Xela the first hostel I visited no longer exists. Bugger this 2004 book may be a problem. I stayed in Casa Argentina and met a Canadian girl and a Yankee named Harris. We chatted for a while in the kitchen and then went out for an Indian meal with their language students that cost more than it would have at home lol. They were all language students or volunteers and there were about 20 of us. There had also been some wanker Aussies in the hostel who wanted to buy guns before travelling on. Fuckwits. I found out Harris had had stuff stolen from his home stay, a Czech girl had been robbed and one guy had been mugged at gun point and even had his glasses stolen. Thats mean. They are of no use and he can't even find his way back home now. One guy had lost his card and the new one had come from DHL but had been left at the depot. He wanted to leave it to teach them a lesson, but I persuaded him he was a moron and should pick it up. After the meal a select bunch of us went back to this guy Chris´apartment and got some beers and rum in. He was an extreme sporting American and there was an assortment of Swedes, a cute American named Emily, a crazy Danish girl and a few more Yankees. We played the ladel game (shooting shots from ladels, which was heavyish) and listened to random music until about 4am. Harris had to catch a bus in the morning but overslept it and had to catch them down the road. The rest of us were slightly hungover and I woke up around 11am. Shit.
Somehow I crawled out of bed and headed out to Fuentes Georginas. I took a bus out there and then got accosted by an Italian couple as we needed to hire a truck up the hillside. We paid 50 quetzals between us and headed up. They were from Sardinia and had been working in London. I had forgotten how cute the Italian accent was and she was stunning in her swimming costume. Once at the top we headed into the baths. These are natural hot springs and the main pool was like a bath when you have first run it. Very hot. As you got closer to the source it became almost scolding. We hung there for a couple of hours and I got talking to some German investment bankers. They were on a package tour and had space in their bus so I convinced them to give us a lift back. It was interesting to get a tour of Xela in German and I could understand bits of it. It was good that it saved us so much money. In the evening I was going to join the Italians for a concert but missed them somehow and saw the National Orchestra perform a christmas concert in the main square. Its a beautiful square and the city is pretty in general. One of the Germans had told me a joke about bus drivers in Guatemala. One driver and the Pope come to heaven. God lets the driver in and stops the Pope. The pope asks why he can't enter but the driver can. God says 'when you are working, people fall asleep, but when he is working lots of people are praying to me'. The ice cream is phenomenal in this country by the way. Must be the milk somewhere. I got back to the hostel and would have joined the Candian but she was with the wanker Aussies and so it was on to Antigua.
In Xela the first hostel I visited no longer exists. Bugger this 2004 book may be a problem. I stayed in Casa Argentina and met a Canadian girl and a Yankee named Harris. We chatted for a while in the kitchen and then went out for an Indian meal with their language students that cost more than it would have at home lol. They were all language students or volunteers and there were about 20 of us. There had also been some wanker Aussies in the hostel who wanted to buy guns before travelling on. Fuckwits. I found out Harris had had stuff stolen from his home stay, a Czech girl had been robbed and one guy had been mugged at gun point and even had his glasses stolen. Thats mean. They are of no use and he can't even find his way back home now. One guy had lost his card and the new one had come from DHL but had been left at the depot. He wanted to leave it to teach them a lesson, but I persuaded him he was a moron and should pick it up. After the meal a select bunch of us went back to this guy Chris´apartment and got some beers and rum in. He was an extreme sporting American and there was an assortment of Swedes, a cute American named Emily, a crazy Danish girl and a few more Yankees. We played the ladel game (shooting shots from ladels, which was heavyish) and listened to random music until about 4am. Harris had to catch a bus in the morning but overslept it and had to catch them down the road. The rest of us were slightly hungover and I woke up around 11am. Shit.
Somehow I crawled out of bed and headed out to Fuentes Georginas. I took a bus out there and then got accosted by an Italian couple as we needed to hire a truck up the hillside. We paid 50 quetzals between us and headed up. They were from Sardinia and had been working in London. I had forgotten how cute the Italian accent was and she was stunning in her swimming costume. Once at the top we headed into the baths. These are natural hot springs and the main pool was like a bath when you have first run it. Very hot. As you got closer to the source it became almost scolding. We hung there for a couple of hours and I got talking to some German investment bankers. They were on a package tour and had space in their bus so I convinced them to give us a lift back. It was interesting to get a tour of Xela in German and I could understand bits of it. It was good that it saved us so much money. In the evening I was going to join the Italians for a concert but missed them somehow and saw the National Orchestra perform a christmas concert in the main square. Its a beautiful square and the city is pretty in general. One of the Germans had told me a joke about bus drivers in Guatemala. One driver and the Pope come to heaven. God lets the driver in and stops the Pope. The pope asks why he can't enter but the driver can. God says 'when you are working, people fall asleep, but when he is working lots of people are praying to me'. The ice cream is phenomenal in this country by the way. Must be the milk somewhere. I got back to the hostel and would have joined the Candian but she was with the wanker Aussies and so it was on to Antigua.
Oaxaca and Chiapas
I arrived in Oaxaca City around 6am and limped to the hostel. Here I was informed that I would not be able to check into the hostel properly until 1pm and so I decided to sleep on a bed in the lounge while everyone else had breakfast around the sleeping hobo. When I woke up, I was locked into a discussion oin politics with a girl from Wahsington state that did not go too well. I have concluded I have a problem travelling. I possess a rational world view. My politics are centre left, but compared to other travellers (who seem to be way out lefty in the loony lands) I am decidedly way to the right of traveller central politics. One mad Yankee in this hostel was telling me Obama will be assassinated and he is controlled by the powers that be (unlikely though still a fear of mine), that all newspapers have corporate agendas except his online socialist daily (which of course can be entirely trusted to give a fair and impartial view) and that prejudice is ok if you are the weaker and racism implies power (I argued no, that by definition racism implies prejudice with no real evidence and subsequently it is wrong for the oppressor or the victim to utter prejudicial remarks). The one consolation I have is these beatniks get loads of nodding assents, until I point out the asinine nature of their comments and how they have not contemplated many different angles to a situation. Its tiring but it shuts them up. It does always remind me of the stupid actors guild in Team America as well, so at least that makes me laugh. On a plus side the hostel worker was an Israeli woman with a wicked accent. I could not put my finger on where it was from at first, but makes me want to visit Israle if they all sound like that.
I spent the afternoon updating my blog with the last few entries. Peter had arrived in Oaxaca from some random mountain town in the afternoon and joined me, this American socialist (the fucking idiot I was ranting about earlier), and cool Aussie guy named Mike and a Swedish girl. We talked on all sorts and drank and the Socialist chatted bollocks and some sense. The left and right are very good at identifying problems and phenomenally awful at suggesting solutions, because they have their predetermined mantras to stick to. There was also an Aussie woman in my dorm who talked a lot of shit and seemed to be on a mission to self destruct as quickly as possible from a desperate craving for attention. On the plus side the hostel was kind of cool. I persuaded the Swede, Peter and Mike to come out down the valley the next day. I will just give a quick summary of the things I have seen before and am skipping this time. In Mexico City Teotihuacan is a must see for the pyramids there and probably the best day trip, Oaxaca City is overrated as a city but the little municipal regional museum is worth checking out. Also down near Comitan there is the Lagunas de Cinco Colores which are worth a day trip for the spectacular water there. Finally there is the Sumidero Canyon where you can take a lancha ride along through a canyon to a hydroelectric plant. I missed all of these things this time.
We headed off on a bus down to Mixtla that you can pick up from the market place. Here we managed to haggle down the driver to 40 pesos each from 50 after recruiting two Italians. Me, Mike and the Swede got in the back of the truck and were treated to an open top ascent of these steep, windy, dusty roads. Very dusty roads. It caked us in the stuff and you could even taste it in your mouth. Well I suppose they say you have to taste the country, but I was not thinking literally. Its also a reasonably scary drive as the truck totters on the edge. At Hieve del Agua there are calcified waterfalls and a pretty cold (for me and the Aussie anyway, the others found it fine) water pool to swim in. Another warmer one was encrusted with sulphur and so the Yankee tour group (a fit young bunch) would not enter it. We swam here for a bit and got the truck back to Mixtla to see some ruins (that were ok but not worth the detour). Sadly we did not get to see the biggest tree in the world (which would disappoint Ollie) because it actually has entrance times. Yes a tree can apparently be closed off. Not sure how. Its a fucking tree and to top it off, its tghe biggest tree. I had thought it was open all the time because the when asked what it cost the Swede said 3 pesos, but I had heard its free. Damn my shit hearing. In the evening we drank in the hostel again.
The following morning we decided to cycle up to Monte Alban. This looked easier on paper than it was to prove in practice. It was effectively a 1.5 hour climb. The Swede, her gears not working, dropped off first. Then me and Mike conked out about half way up. We would cycle sporadically the rest of the way, while Peter made it all the way to the top with some breaks but no pushing. We got some overpriced food and had a wander around the ruins. They were good, but more impressive because of the setting on top of the mountain and the satisfaction of having made it up it by our own power. The Swede joined us an hour later and we cycled down the hill in what was a more pleasant. We cycled along sand tracks that kept trying to jacknife the bikes and was constantly bucking us and along river valleys with arches of bamboo like Savannah. Then we had to come back to town via the main roads and were ducking and diving the traffic like cycling version of frogger. We got called gringos and given the werewolf sign. Tsk Tsk. I could recognise these insults now lol. When we got back I headed to the bus station with the Swede and realised I had left my fucking bank card in Xalapa. Luckily I had my Nat West overdraft on the other account and my mum could bring the card out to Canada. Shit. I had made the same fuck up that Ollie had done in Seattle. At this point I was tired and went back to the hostel where Batman and a Bruce Willis omnibus was playing. I chatted with an English guy who had gone round the world on only 1,700 pounds. Made my budgeting look shit. There was an ensemble there, Peter let me use his skype account to cancel my card and I eventually set off for a night bus to Tuxtla Gutierrez.
I arrived early in Tuxtla and not to the tiny little concrete shithole on the centre of town I had last time. The place with no baggage lock up so we had rented a hotel just for our bags to have somewhere to stay. This time it was a shiny, gleaming new place with state of the art shopping centre. I met Geli's sister Brigitte and her husband Walter. They took me to the zoo and we spent about 5 hours there. There were some aggressive birds there who apparently attack people and seemed to be everywhere eating all the animals food. They were kind of like park wardens crossed with vigilantes. They populated every cage and made it their own. There were two of them that had to be caged for the tourists. That must suck. All the other run free and do anything, while you have to be one in a cage. Maybe they rotate. Its a cool zoo as zsome of the animals roam free (like whipsnade) they all have space and the owner looks like Fidel Castro, while also being an orchestra conductor. Afterwards we grabbed some Chinese food and played badminton in the car park downstairs. We all sucked in the twilight as you can't see the shuttlecock. Then we played some bilingual scrabble, which was interesting. I played in English while Walter and Brigitte played in Spanish. No w's though which was sucky. I won just and then we went out to see some Marimba. The national marimba champions has swung by to play, as they do and I met them briefly, although they did think I must be a convict to want to travel for so long.
In the morning I headed to Comitan and booked into a place for the night. I did not have time for the lakes, but decided to go out to El Chiflon again. The dudes at the bus place had found a dead snake somewhere (at least I think it was dead) and were playing with it in the base of the bus. I slept on the way out there as I was knackered and again effectively had my own bus. Last time I was here it was cool but April, this time they have installed a zip line over the waterfall but it was not in operation. It was also just after rainy season so it was very powerful this time and I got soaked from the spray and when I walked down I had to wait at the side of the road for a bus. Here I was attacked by some turkeys. Viscious little bastards. They kept gobbling and siddling closer until they were almost upon me. Luckily a bus swung by and I lept in to my safety and to the laughter of my co-travellers. El Chiflon is the highest waterfall in Mexico and very powerful and well worth a day trip. In the evening I met Ana and her friend Sally for some bar hopping in Comitan and promised them a return drinking session next monday. We had a good time and apparently I have to try this drink Porsh which is like some kind of super strength moonshine.
I slept later than planned and there were no OCC buses left. I had to take a minivan down to the border with Guatemala and a place called Ciudad Cuahtemoc. There I did not see emigration stupidly and took a taxi to the bordertown of 'ah bugger I can't remember its name but it began with M I think'. On the way I passed a sign saying 'good journey, come back soon'. Yep I was back very soon when I was informed I had not got my stamp. Oh well 3 steps over the border was three more than I had managed last time I wanted to come here. Fuck it. Only enough money for one taxi (or so I thought, I just can't count. Thought I had 19, I had 20, taxi is ten). So I walked back 4km which was forbidden but fuck them. I got my stamp and took another taxi back up. At last. At the third attempt I had made Guatemala. Bloody maestro cards don't work very well though so I had to try many banks, all with their own pump action shotgun toting guard before I found one that would give me money and I got on a chicken bus to Huehuetenango
I spent the afternoon updating my blog with the last few entries. Peter had arrived in Oaxaca from some random mountain town in the afternoon and joined me, this American socialist (the fucking idiot I was ranting about earlier), and cool Aussie guy named Mike and a Swedish girl. We talked on all sorts and drank and the Socialist chatted bollocks and some sense. The left and right are very good at identifying problems and phenomenally awful at suggesting solutions, because they have their predetermined mantras to stick to. There was also an Aussie woman in my dorm who talked a lot of shit and seemed to be on a mission to self destruct as quickly as possible from a desperate craving for attention. On the plus side the hostel was kind of cool. I persuaded the Swede, Peter and Mike to come out down the valley the next day. I will just give a quick summary of the things I have seen before and am skipping this time. In Mexico City Teotihuacan is a must see for the pyramids there and probably the best day trip, Oaxaca City is overrated as a city but the little municipal regional museum is worth checking out. Also down near Comitan there is the Lagunas de Cinco Colores which are worth a day trip for the spectacular water there. Finally there is the Sumidero Canyon where you can take a lancha ride along through a canyon to a hydroelectric plant. I missed all of these things this time.
We headed off on a bus down to Mixtla that you can pick up from the market place. Here we managed to haggle down the driver to 40 pesos each from 50 after recruiting two Italians. Me, Mike and the Swede got in the back of the truck and were treated to an open top ascent of these steep, windy, dusty roads. Very dusty roads. It caked us in the stuff and you could even taste it in your mouth. Well I suppose they say you have to taste the country, but I was not thinking literally. Its also a reasonably scary drive as the truck totters on the edge. At Hieve del Agua there are calcified waterfalls and a pretty cold (for me and the Aussie anyway, the others found it fine) water pool to swim in. Another warmer one was encrusted with sulphur and so the Yankee tour group (a fit young bunch) would not enter it. We swam here for a bit and got the truck back to Mixtla to see some ruins (that were ok but not worth the detour). Sadly we did not get to see the biggest tree in the world (which would disappoint Ollie) because it actually has entrance times. Yes a tree can apparently be closed off. Not sure how. Its a fucking tree and to top it off, its tghe biggest tree. I had thought it was open all the time because the when asked what it cost the Swede said 3 pesos, but I had heard its free. Damn my shit hearing. In the evening we drank in the hostel again.
The following morning we decided to cycle up to Monte Alban. This looked easier on paper than it was to prove in practice. It was effectively a 1.5 hour climb. The Swede, her gears not working, dropped off first. Then me and Mike conked out about half way up. We would cycle sporadically the rest of the way, while Peter made it all the way to the top with some breaks but no pushing. We got some overpriced food and had a wander around the ruins. They were good, but more impressive because of the setting on top of the mountain and the satisfaction of having made it up it by our own power. The Swede joined us an hour later and we cycled down the hill in what was a more pleasant. We cycled along sand tracks that kept trying to jacknife the bikes and was constantly bucking us and along river valleys with arches of bamboo like Savannah. Then we had to come back to town via the main roads and were ducking and diving the traffic like cycling version of frogger. We got called gringos and given the werewolf sign. Tsk Tsk. I could recognise these insults now lol. When we got back I headed to the bus station with the Swede and realised I had left my fucking bank card in Xalapa. Luckily I had my Nat West overdraft on the other account and my mum could bring the card out to Canada. Shit. I had made the same fuck up that Ollie had done in Seattle. At this point I was tired and went back to the hostel where Batman and a Bruce Willis omnibus was playing. I chatted with an English guy who had gone round the world on only 1,700 pounds. Made my budgeting look shit. There was an ensemble there, Peter let me use his skype account to cancel my card and I eventually set off for a night bus to Tuxtla Gutierrez.
I arrived early in Tuxtla and not to the tiny little concrete shithole on the centre of town I had last time. The place with no baggage lock up so we had rented a hotel just for our bags to have somewhere to stay. This time it was a shiny, gleaming new place with state of the art shopping centre. I met Geli's sister Brigitte and her husband Walter. They took me to the zoo and we spent about 5 hours there. There were some aggressive birds there who apparently attack people and seemed to be everywhere eating all the animals food. They were kind of like park wardens crossed with vigilantes. They populated every cage and made it their own. There were two of them that had to be caged for the tourists. That must suck. All the other run free and do anything, while you have to be one in a cage. Maybe they rotate. Its a cool zoo as zsome of the animals roam free (like whipsnade) they all have space and the owner looks like Fidel Castro, while also being an orchestra conductor. Afterwards we grabbed some Chinese food and played badminton in the car park downstairs. We all sucked in the twilight as you can't see the shuttlecock. Then we played some bilingual scrabble, which was interesting. I played in English while Walter and Brigitte played in Spanish. No w's though which was sucky. I won just and then we went out to see some Marimba. The national marimba champions has swung by to play, as they do and I met them briefly, although they did think I must be a convict to want to travel for so long.
In the morning I headed to Comitan and booked into a place for the night. I did not have time for the lakes, but decided to go out to El Chiflon again. The dudes at the bus place had found a dead snake somewhere (at least I think it was dead) and were playing with it in the base of the bus. I slept on the way out there as I was knackered and again effectively had my own bus. Last time I was here it was cool but April, this time they have installed a zip line over the waterfall but it was not in operation. It was also just after rainy season so it was very powerful this time and I got soaked from the spray and when I walked down I had to wait at the side of the road for a bus. Here I was attacked by some turkeys. Viscious little bastards. They kept gobbling and siddling closer until they were almost upon me. Luckily a bus swung by and I lept in to my safety and to the laughter of my co-travellers. El Chiflon is the highest waterfall in Mexico and very powerful and well worth a day trip. In the evening I met Ana and her friend Sally for some bar hopping in Comitan and promised them a return drinking session next monday. We had a good time and apparently I have to try this drink Porsh which is like some kind of super strength moonshine.
I slept later than planned and there were no OCC buses left. I had to take a minivan down to the border with Guatemala and a place called Ciudad Cuahtemoc. There I did not see emigration stupidly and took a taxi to the bordertown of 'ah bugger I can't remember its name but it began with M I think'. On the way I passed a sign saying 'good journey, come back soon'. Yep I was back very soon when I was informed I had not got my stamp. Oh well 3 steps over the border was three more than I had managed last time I wanted to come here. Fuck it. Only enough money for one taxi (or so I thought, I just can't count. Thought I had 19, I had 20, taxi is ten). So I walked back 4km which was forbidden but fuck them. I got my stamp and took another taxi back up. At last. At the third attempt I had made Guatemala. Bloody maestro cards don't work very well though so I had to try many banks, all with their own pump action shotgun toting guard before I found one that would give me money and I got on a chicken bus to Huehuetenango
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