So I left San Cristóbal earlyish tuesday morning, taking the winding road through the mountains to Palenque. As I reached the outskirts of the town, it began to rain, and with the window down and the damp lush jungle rain smell wafting in, I actually felt a sort of nostalgia for England and rainy winters! The road was fairly empty and in good condition, and it swept back and forth between beautiful jungled mountains, with small villages dotted along the way. The major thing of note to happen on the journey was the indigenous people trying to sell some kind of fruit to passers-by. in one village, small children were rushing into the path of oncoming traffic in order to try to force it to stop, while their father looked on critically. Presumably he would beat them if they didn't reach their quota. A little further along, a Mayan woman and a small girl had actually erected a rope-and-flag barrier across the road on a blind mountainside bend. I did the only thing I could do in the circumstances: hit the gas. Presumably the contraption fell to the road, and didn't wrap itself around the rear axle of the ´burban (possibly with Maya family still attached).
When I arrived at Palenque, it was still raining. I began to get the first feelings that maybe actually rain wasn't all that cool. I had never noticed it before, but in England when it's raining, that usually means it's going to stop sometime soon. So I had a sort of subconscious expectation that kept being denied, which was unsettling. I decided not to go up to the ruins but to stay at El Panchan, a sort of grotto in the jungle, and hope the rain might have stopped in the morning.
I met Haken a Swede (who I'd first met in Oaxaca) in the bar whilst I was wandering around unsuccessfully trying to find a bed. His roommates of the previous night were leaving so we decided to try going halves on a cabaña: it only came to US$5 each. The only one she had left was on the first floor, so we left our bags and went back to the bar to eat drink and socialise. I met a Canadian family of two teachers and three children aged probably 6 to 12 who had bought an A-Team style van, and taken a year off travelling down through the US and Mexico. How totally inspirational. It became clear in conversation that having kids is the best ice-breaker and cultural ambassador you can have!
The next morning I went to see the ruins, and the rain mercifully held out for the four hours I was there. Back at the hostel, the rain began again, so I abandoned plans to visit Agua Azul
and we instead went into town on a supplies mission. The following morning, we would leave to drive to Chetumal with Veronika, an Austrian girl.
As we sat in the bar that night, eating, drinking, and watching first a fairly appalling harpist, then an amazing fire dancer (and I have seen quite a few), the rain just kept on coming. I began to wish I had driven the few hundred yards from the cabaña to the restaurant. At about 1am, we finally decided it just wasn't going to stop, and as we planned to wake up and leave early the next day, we made a run for it.
I arrived a little after Haken, to the first surprise of many that night. He was butt naked (Swedes eh). He explained, between slightly hysterical laughter, that he had decided to run back with the room key in his mouth, as he was using both his hands to hold a plastic bar chair he had stolen above his head as a makeshift umbrella. As he reached the top of the iron spiral-staircase to our room, the key had fallen from his mouth, dropping straight into the growing muddy puddles below. Being one to confront unpleasant situations head-on, he quickly realised that his only option was to strip naked and swim around in the mud looking for the key. Absolutely incredibly, 15 minutes later he actually found it, and ran naked and mud-coated to the shower blocks to clean off. Needless to say there was no hot water. I can't imagine what other people must have thought if they saw him.
Anyway, relatively unfazeable, I just (after laughing quite a bit) put out the light, and got into my bed. The rain was still torrential, and it was so loud, sleep was slow in coming. In fact before it did, we heard a commotion outside: the American girls from the neighbouring cabaña were screaming into the night: "Don't do it! It's too dangerous! Muy peligroso! Come back!". Kneeling up to see what was going on, I couldn't believe what I saw. The river had risen so high with the rain that it had burst it's banks entirely. Our bridge back to the main area was underwater except in the middle, with a fierce-looking current rushing all around it. The entire cabaña area was at least a metre deep in water. And it was still raining like it would never stop.
The five guys whose (ground-floor) cabaña had been flooded, and who had been considering attempting a swim to higher ground, became the first of many refugees in our first-floor cabaña building. As more and more came, lured upward by the sight of others, each had a crazy story to tell. Some poor fools had camped, and had simply abandoned tents full of possessions to the rising water. Some had been fast asleep and only awakened when the water rose above their mattress. A Canadian couple were in a very bad way: the girl was suffering from shock and was shovering uncontrollably and vomiting off the blacony. Another Canadian girl had left her bike, which she'd ridden all the way down from Toronto, chained to a tree. It was anybody's guess whether tree or bike would be there come morning.
The girls next door got the iPod going, and made everyone cups of mushroom tea. Soggy rizla came out, and joints started to circulate. Our room became a sort of changing-room and chillout room, with Haken, incredibly, still trying to sleep through everything. I had gotten up, and whilst I was chatting to some people, a wet Quebecois guy and a wet Mexican guy decided to occupy my bed. At 4am, the rain continued unabated. I had had quite bad diarrhoea that day, but since we were effectively ship-wrecked, I just clenched butt-cheeks harder and grimly held on. At this point, there were about 10 people passed out on beds and floor and packs in the girls' two-bed room. The Canadian couple were sharing the end of Haken's single bed; myself and Erica from Michigan joined Francois and Gaika on my bed. Then, whilst trying desperately to keep my sphincter closed, a feat which took almost all my attention, and yet also having to fight the growing need to just shut my eyes and sleep, I lay and listened to Erica (a recent Biochemistry graduate, it transpired) from Michigan talk for three hours about how life on this planet originated, how life can be detected on other planets, what dengue fever is, and other topics that are now lost forever to me.
At 0630, when I was feeling horribly bloated and uncomfortable, and really thinking I could no longer control my body, a guy appeared in the doorway looking grim. "I've been," he said. I thought he meant he had finally given in and relieved himself in the raging waters. Feeling slightly better for not having to be the first, I decided I had no option but to do likewise. But it turned out that in fact, in those fews hours, with the slackening rain, the water level had falled dramatically. It was now possible to squelch barefoot through marsh to the toilet block where, incredibly, the tide-marks indicated that the water had stopped rising just before overflowing into the toilet bowl. Ah unalloyed delight. Ah blessed relief. An eruption fit to wake a campsite, but I didn't care. And somehow, my emergency toilet paper had survived dry through everything. Never was a man happier. When I returned to my wet, already-full bed, I pulled a bit of damp unused cover over my head, and within minutes was asleep. Sorry Erica: I must have seemed terribly rude.
In the morning (well, later that morning), we were made aware that the following night's stay would be free. But what with a guy coming in with a bleeding ankle, saying on of the El Panchan dogs had bitten him, and the whole place being a marsh, and the rain restarting again, we all were very keen to leave as soon as humanly possible, even though it meant fording the river with the ´burban. But it started and forded like a trooper, and we were on our way without a backward glance.
Three minutes down the road, the rain suddenly, and completely, stopped. Was it just one raincloud, with a Mayan-cursed vengeance against hippy campers, that had caused all that destruction? Difficult to know. But as the sun came out, and the car and ourselves began to dry out, I decided that perhaps I didn't really miss the rain, after all.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
miscellanea
Get hold of some of this. Oaxaca has the most amazing hot chocolate i have ever tasted. I guess you'd expect it from the land of chocolate! And, as usual, google, the net, and american commerce conspire to make it available to anyone with a credit card. I bought some to send home, but I lost it. It may be hiding somewhere in the suburban, its hard to be sure.
Also there are some pictures of New Year on the net now. Thanks Maaike :)!
Wow amazing jungle-surrounded mist-wreathed rain-drenched maya ruins here at palenque. Tomorrow early taking the never-taken road cutting across the Yucatan peninsular through hopefully tourist-free ruin sites to Chetumal where I make only my third international border-crossing of the trip, into Belize. Tips Graham? Thinking of going to Orange Walk and Belize City, then taking the road to Tikal in Guatemala.
Also there are some pictures of New Year on the net now. Thanks Maaike :)!
Wow amazing jungle-surrounded mist-wreathed rain-drenched maya ruins here at palenque. Tomorrow early taking the never-taken road cutting across the Yucatan peninsular through hopefully tourist-free ruin sites to Chetumal where I make only my third international border-crossing of the trip, into Belize. Tips Graham? Thinking of going to Orange Walk and Belize City, then taking the road to Tikal in Guatemala.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
christmas pictures
Relaxing over christmas on the beach at maruata.
And at one in the morning, watching a sea turtle lay her eggs.
(Pics courtesy of Mahi, ta!)
And now I'm off to Palenque to view some ruins! I decided to go into Guatemala via Belize in the end, so that is my next border crossing in a few days probably!
Sunday, January 22, 2006
photographs
i spent yesterday at an indigenous village fiesta at zincanatán with an israeli couple. the guy was really into photography: he took about 70 pictures in a few hours. i preferred to just watch and experience than try to record, but looking at
his website i can't deny that he has got some amazing pictures in the past.
the pictures of yesterday are not there yet, but there's some great ones of central america, particularly "people". i'd highly recommend a quick browse, especially on work time. and check back later for the ones of yesterday.
his website i can't deny that he has got some amazing pictures in the past.
the pictures of yesterday are not there yet, but there's some great ones of central america, particularly "people". i'd highly recommend a quick browse, especially on work time. and check back later for the ones of yesterday.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
tourist or traveller
i think i have finally hit upon the distinction. unfortunately i have to report that i am (i could optimistically add "as yet") by this definition firmly in the "tourist" camp.
you can recognise tourists, because they lack a role. they are observers. when you watch a TV documentary about aztec ruins, you see only the ruins themselves. never the cameraman, the sound guy, the mic and the camera. you have the impression of a single subjective experience. it is as if you are a ghost in the scene. if the camera spun round and showed you the process of making the programme you are watching, you would get an unpleasant shock.
when a tourist encounters other tourists, he gets a similar feeling. the tourist wishes, ghostlike, to observe without participating. when it is just you, you can make believe that you don't exist. but when you are forced to confront other tourists, the truth of your own role-less presence is forced upon you.
a traveller, by contrast, i believe, has a role. he really engages in the situation. perhaps he stays in one village for three weeks, makes some friends, learns how to make tostadas, and teaches some english. since he has a role, he is not a ghost and does not have the same crisis of self. even though his presence also is transitory, it is concrete.
actually i doubt whether i myself will ever achieve "travellerhood". part of the fun of travelling for me, is being sometimes the only person of my own culture. you can make believe you are anyone, and place any interpretation you please on what you see. it's so much more diverting than at home, when through long familiarity you know always what people are thinking and why they are acting the way they are, and you know that everyone else understands you in the same way.
you can recognise tourists, because they lack a role. they are observers. when you watch a TV documentary about aztec ruins, you see only the ruins themselves. never the cameraman, the sound guy, the mic and the camera. you have the impression of a single subjective experience. it is as if you are a ghost in the scene. if the camera spun round and showed you the process of making the programme you are watching, you would get an unpleasant shock.
when a tourist encounters other tourists, he gets a similar feeling. the tourist wishes, ghostlike, to observe without participating. when it is just you, you can make believe that you don't exist. but when you are forced to confront other tourists, the truth of your own role-less presence is forced upon you.
a traveller, by contrast, i believe, has a role. he really engages in the situation. perhaps he stays in one village for three weeks, makes some friends, learns how to make tostadas, and teaches some english. since he has a role, he is not a ghost and does not have the same crisis of self. even though his presence also is transitory, it is concrete.
actually i doubt whether i myself will ever achieve "travellerhood". part of the fun of travelling for me, is being sometimes the only person of my own culture. you can make believe you are anyone, and place any interpretation you please on what you see. it's so much more diverting than at home, when through long familiarity you know always what people are thinking and why they are acting the way they are, and you know that everyone else understands you in the same way.
Friday, January 13, 2006
De Monteczuma y gringos
Well, finally after 6 weeks it happened. Monteczuma, in the form of two Zapoteca girls serving us tacos at the side of the Puebla-Oaxaca Expressway in between laughing at our Spanish, took his revenge. I woke up at 5am in general discomfort, and spent the morning issuing forth from various orifices. Unpleasant.
Actually, although I felt generally pretty grim, and didn't get out of bed much for a couple of days, really I had it pretty mild. I'm not sure whether the lesson is not to buy street-food from laughing Zapotecas, or just not to care too much about getting ill. tbh, getting ill for two days in what is now four months of travel is probably better than i average at home, over the winter months.
So yesterday I finally got to see more of Oaxaca than the inside of a hostel. It is totally unlike everywhere else i've been: it's "Gringolandia" as somebody said. Full of american seniors in luminous orange shorts and Europeans in ridiculous holiday-chic "indigenous" clothing sipping lattes in absurdly overpriced restaurants. pretty funny really, a good diversion from the rest of my trip. There are about 10 hostels here at least, and the HI one is huge and as clean and organised as any I saw in the US. So there are a lot of travellers here too, so plenty of interesting inter-beer international chat.
Tourists piss me off though. Blundering about, looking at stuff even though they don't know why, just to fill up their day. And make no mistake, I include so-called "travellers" in this too. What the futtock are they doing? Don't they have homes to go to, jobs to do, like normal people? What do they expect to find inside a 17th century cathedral, at an indigenous market, or among pre-Hispanic ruins? I mean, if you're really interested in some subject, sure, read books about it, study it properly from home, see photographs, and perhaps culminate many years of study with visits to specific sights. But coming to a country, following a set path through a set of historically and culturally unrelated "sights" which just happen to be within bussing distance of one another, loitering aimlessly in the streets and squares of some poor town, spending absurd amounts of money buying rubbish that you will only use to clutter your stupid homes, using people's genuine poverty and culture ancestry as a backdrop for your idiotic notion of the perfect holiday. Bleugh. You all make me sick. And what the hell will you do with all those photographs of the inside of churches and ruins and buildings? You're not a professional photographer: your pictures will be rubbish. A church is the house of God. It is a sacred building where people go to pray. Ruins are just old things that haven't been used for a while. Buildings... are buildings! Where people live, or work. They are not freaking tourist attractions! Go home, I say, go home!
Somehow, I manage not to include myself in this group. Just because the stupid tourist clothes I wear don't happen to be luminous orange, or because I speak a few words of broken Spanish, or because I look at things instead of buying or photographing them. Interesting hypocrisy.
Actually, although I felt generally pretty grim, and didn't get out of bed much for a couple of days, really I had it pretty mild. I'm not sure whether the lesson is not to buy street-food from laughing Zapotecas, or just not to care too much about getting ill. tbh, getting ill for two days in what is now four months of travel is probably better than i average at home, over the winter months.
So yesterday I finally got to see more of Oaxaca than the inside of a hostel. It is totally unlike everywhere else i've been: it's "Gringolandia" as somebody said. Full of american seniors in luminous orange shorts and Europeans in ridiculous holiday-chic "indigenous" clothing sipping lattes in absurdly overpriced restaurants. pretty funny really, a good diversion from the rest of my trip. There are about 10 hostels here at least, and the HI one is huge and as clean and organised as any I saw in the US. So there are a lot of travellers here too, so plenty of interesting inter-beer international chat.
Tourists piss me off though. Blundering about, looking at stuff even though they don't know why, just to fill up their day. And make no mistake, I include so-called "travellers" in this too. What the futtock are they doing? Don't they have homes to go to, jobs to do, like normal people? What do they expect to find inside a 17th century cathedral, at an indigenous market, or among pre-Hispanic ruins? I mean, if you're really interested in some subject, sure, read books about it, study it properly from home, see photographs, and perhaps culminate many years of study with visits to specific sights. But coming to a country, following a set path through a set of historically and culturally unrelated "sights" which just happen to be within bussing distance of one another, loitering aimlessly in the streets and squares of some poor town, spending absurd amounts of money buying rubbish that you will only use to clutter your stupid homes, using people's genuine poverty and culture ancestry as a backdrop for your idiotic notion of the perfect holiday. Bleugh. You all make me sick. And what the hell will you do with all those photographs of the inside of churches and ruins and buildings? You're not a professional photographer: your pictures will be rubbish. A church is the house of God. It is a sacred building where people go to pray. Ruins are just old things that haven't been used for a while. Buildings... are buildings! Where people live, or work. They are not freaking tourist attractions! Go home, I say, go home!
Somehow, I manage not to include myself in this group. Just because the stupid tourist clothes I wear don't happen to be luminous orange, or because I speak a few words of broken Spanish, or because I look at things instead of buying or photographing them. Interesting hypocrisy.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
bad day turned good
Two bad things happened today: I lost my money belt (with passport, tourist permit, credit card and traveller's cheques), and somebody crashed into my car.
I left Cholula yesterday morning for Puebla, got into town to find the hostel full, so booked into a grim but cheap hotel. Using the baños in a restaurant at lunchtime, I realised I wasn't wearing my money belt. Yes, I had put it in my pillow case in the Cholula hostel so it was safe overnight, then had left without it. Wag point. I frantically called them, but the person answering didn't speak english or understand my spanish, so I just drove over there, narrowly avoiding running over a man, sideswiping a taxi, and being run into by a bus -- all this on a 30 minute journey :/. When I arrived the guy from the previous night was nowhere to be found, and the new guy in charge had no idea. The bed had been stripped: no sign of money or belt.
I was told the original guy would be back the next day, so I figured all I could do was return to Puebla. This morning, I called Cholula again, and -- thank god -- original guy says yes, he has the money belt. So I drive over there yet again (incident-free -- on the weekend all the mentalists (mostly bus drivers) stay off the roads, apparently), and with much gratefullness, pick up the goods. I incidentally offer the others a lift to Puebla -- and, randomly, they all accept. So eight of us pile into the truck and I make the Cholula-Puebla trip for what feels like the 100th time. Just on the outskirts of Puebla, I pull up at some traffic lights: unfortunately, what I don't spot is the guy in the 'parked cars' lane to my right, who is reversing into a spot. He is obviously looking back and not forward, and as he reverses in manages to swipe me with his front wing. I am not too bothered, given that I am driving a tank, although my passengers are a little taken aback by my sangfroid. When the lights go green, I pull away, but apparently the guy hasn't bothered to move back out of my way, because as I do my rear bumper catches his front bumper, and rips it half off. All of this relayed to me after the fact by my passenger watching in the wing-mirror. I drive on: when in Mexico, etc. When I drop the others off, I check the truck but it hasn't suffered a bruise. American overengineering: one point.
. . .
Yes, the Dutch girls, plus a Mexican-French couple, and some Mexicans, helped me share the Tequila. I found out afterwards that cheap tequila gives bad hangovers. I finally got over the headache 2 days later. But we had fun, randomly crashing the party of the Mexican girl's family. Thanks, Elisabeth and Carlos (who I think was her uncle.)
. . .
Actually, today, I'm bored of travelling. I'm sick of the neverending change, the impermanence of anything of value. And there's a lot to confront, all by yourself. Well I kind of was, but then I met some Swiss-Germans and they invited me to join them for a beer -- and I forgot about all that again.
I left Cholula yesterday morning for Puebla, got into town to find the hostel full, so booked into a grim but cheap hotel. Using the baños in a restaurant at lunchtime, I realised I wasn't wearing my money belt. Yes, I had put it in my pillow case in the Cholula hostel so it was safe overnight, then had left without it. Wag point. I frantically called them, but the person answering didn't speak english or understand my spanish, so I just drove over there, narrowly avoiding running over a man, sideswiping a taxi, and being run into by a bus -- all this on a 30 minute journey :/. When I arrived the guy from the previous night was nowhere to be found, and the new guy in charge had no idea. The bed had been stripped: no sign of money or belt.
I was told the original guy would be back the next day, so I figured all I could do was return to Puebla. This morning, I called Cholula again, and -- thank god -- original guy says yes, he has the money belt. So I drive over there yet again (incident-free -- on the weekend all the mentalists (mostly bus drivers) stay off the roads, apparently), and with much gratefullness, pick up the goods. I incidentally offer the others a lift to Puebla -- and, randomly, they all accept. So eight of us pile into the truck and I make the Cholula-Puebla trip for what feels like the 100th time. Just on the outskirts of Puebla, I pull up at some traffic lights: unfortunately, what I don't spot is the guy in the 'parked cars' lane to my right, who is reversing into a spot. He is obviously looking back and not forward, and as he reverses in manages to swipe me with his front wing. I am not too bothered, given that I am driving a tank, although my passengers are a little taken aback by my sangfroid. When the lights go green, I pull away, but apparently the guy hasn't bothered to move back out of my way, because as I do my rear bumper catches his front bumper, and rips it half off. All of this relayed to me after the fact by my passenger watching in the wing-mirror. I drive on: when in Mexico, etc. When I drop the others off, I check the truck but it hasn't suffered a bruise. American overengineering: one point.
Yes, the Dutch girls, plus a Mexican-French couple, and some Mexicans, helped me share the Tequila. I found out afterwards that cheap tequila gives bad hangovers. I finally got over the headache 2 days later. But we had fun, randomly crashing the party of the Mexican girl's family. Thanks, Elisabeth and Carlos (who I think was her uncle.)
Actually, today, I'm bored of travelling. I'm sick of the neverending change, the impermanence of anything of value. And there's a lot to confront, all by yourself. Well I kind of was, but then I met some Swiss-Germans and they invited me to join them for a beer -- and I forgot about all that again.
Friday, January 06, 2006
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