For those reading the note on facebook, the video is uploaded onto my page. The video is better quality there, so if you or someone you know has facebook, I would view it there.
Hay una versión del video en español abajo, y está en facebook, si vos lo tenés, con mas cualidad.
December 23, 2008
December 21, 2008
The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Part 2)
Dedicated to my cousin Sean. Sorry it took so long buddy.
I (Never) Saw the Sign
Standing on the State's side of the World's Most Crossed Border, I found myself thoroughly disappointed. Where in the heck was the sign welcoming me to the USA? Maybe I just missed the thing, but I never saw one anywhere. EVERY other border I crossed had a sign. I was so looking forward to that picture.
Standing on the State's side of the World's Most Crossed Border, I found myself thoroughly disappointed. Where in the heck was the sign welcoming me to the USA? Maybe I just missed the thing, but I never saw one anywhere. EVERY other border I crossed had a sign. I was so looking forward to that picture.
Narrator (Deep voice, English accent, probably drinking brandy and smoking a pipe): "The weathered traveler, weary from his seemingly endless adventures in lands foreign, facing daring situations fraught with danger, seasoned by the many exotic spices of the travel life - like jasmine - now takes his last footsteps on foreign soil as he nears his last and final border. You can nearly feel his excitement, his anticipation, the tingly little feeling in the tippy tops of his finger. Just a few more steps now, across he goes, and just imagine the joy he feels staring up at that sign welcoming back into his home country, a place he has not been in nearly a year and a half..."Cue photo: (scratchy record sound) Oh wait.
I guess I will just have to ask you to do the same as I have to do, and just use your imagination.
Coming Full Circle
Arriving in San Diego was not easy. I felt my first travel anxiety in over a year at my total inability and lack of knowledge about how to get things done. My goal was simple enough, get to the neighborhood where I had friends working, find them, and ask if I could spend the night. What I had were a Church address where they worked, a home and work phone number (no cell), a poorly printed map from map quest and printed in Tijauna, and $15. The problem, however, was that I didn't know where in the San Diego area the address was located, therefore no idea how to get there, and I hadn't talked to my friends in about a week (remember I was on bus after bus, night after night, and then hitchhiked Baja...not a lot of chances to find internet access to try and make a phone call).
How in the heck do I get where I need to go? Ok, first, call the friends and see if they can tell me. I got two answering machines and quickly lost $2.50 to the pay-phones, a lot when all you have is $15 to try and find your friends somewhere in San Diego. The poorly printed map soon became the useless map, as no one could recognize the streets on it or what neighborhood it was in. Internet cafes are pretty much a non-concept here in the States, at least for those with no computers with them, and thus printing searching the address and printing a better map, or trying to make a phone call via internet, were both no goes. So it was down to the most basic but sometimes most important helper to the traveler, the gut feeling. I thought I remembered in a conversation a while back that the Church my friends worked at was in Del Mar, a 45 minute drive from the U.S.-Mexico border. So I decided to jump on the trolley, and see what that brought me; sometimes that is all you can do.
Acting on the hunch payed off. Three stops later I saw a trolley information center so I hopped off and talked to a very nice and under appreciated lady (based on how others treated her courteousness. Courtesy here is rare and nothing compared to Latin America, but this lady was a total exception and awesome!). She got me squared away by locating where I was going on a transit map based on the address I had (it was indeed in the Del Mar area), and gave me a map with all possible bus, trolley, and train routes to where I needed to go. Unfortunately, none passed closer than a few miles from the address I had, but I decided to keep on getting closer and see what that brought me.
I headed back north on the trolley before transfering to the Coaster train that heads all the way to LA. While explaining my situation to a conductor, a local from Del Mar overheard us and offered his cell phone to call. I tried again at my friends home, and, success! At 5:00 on a Friday afternoon, I asked my friends if I could stay over that night, and when their laughter (at their surprise, at my latiness...) subsided, they said yes. 20 minutes later I was in their car, ten more brought me to their home.
Acting on the hunch payed off. Three stops later I saw a trolley information center so I hopped off and talked to a very nice and under appreciated lady (based on how others treated her courteousness. Courtesy here is rare and nothing compared to Latin America, but this lady was a total exception and awesome!). She got me squared away by locating where I was going on a transit map based on the address I had (it was indeed in the Del Mar area), and gave me a map with all possible bus, trolley, and train routes to where I needed to go. Unfortunately, none passed closer than a few miles from the address I had, but I decided to keep on getting closer and see what that brought me.
I headed back north on the trolley before transfering to the Coaster train that heads all the way to LA. While explaining my situation to a conductor, a local from Del Mar overheard us and offered his cell phone to call. I tried again at my friends home, and, success! At 5:00 on a Friday afternoon, I asked my friends if I could stay over that night, and when their laughter (at their surprise, at my latiness...) subsided, they said yes. 20 minutes later I was in their car, ten more brought me to their home.
Now here is a good story. These friends I have been referring to are the very same friends, Leo and Taty, that I stayed with in Brazil. It was them that sent me off from their house in Brazil to start this adventure, and it was them that first welcomed me back to the States a year and a half later. How sweet is that?!?!
The Last Leg
The Last Leg
I then began calling everyone I knew, hoping to find a friend, or a friend of a friend (or a friend of a friend of a...), that was heading north for the holidays. Now enter Ryan and Ginger, awesome friends and all around cool people, who upon hearing the surprise I had planned offered me a deal. If they could get in on it, then they would fly me from LA to San Francisco, their treat. Leo and Taty were going to LA the next day to pick up Leo's mom flying in from Brasil, and before I knew it, all the chips were lined up and I was on my way to San Francisco. How blessed I am by my friends!
Ryan and Ginger housed me for the couple days leading up to Christmas, and it was great to catch up and hang out. I also got some good time in with my old roomie, Jose, also living in Bay Area. On Christmas Eve around four o'clock, Ryan, Ginger, and myself headed off toward my grandparents house where my family waited unsuspectingly. For the rest of the story, I give you my poorly made remake and tribute to the Christmas classic, The Night Before Christmas:
The Night Before Christmas - The Remix
'Twas two weeks before Christmas, gone a year plus half,
I thought enough is enough, 'tis time to go back.
So I fixed up my backpack, hopped onto a bus,
En route to California, by Christmas or bust.
By bus, boat, thumb, plane, however I might,
Three thousand miles I went, in only 9 nights.
In the season of giving, my friends did shine bright,
And on the door step I was, on Christmas Eve night.
A phone call to the father, a little chit chat,
Can you give mom a message, and hurry at that?
Can she come get the door, and do as she's told,
Standing in front of the house, your son is quite cold.
Your kidding, your joking, that can't be right,
You are only in Baja, not here tonight!
Of course I'm not joking, come see for yourself,
Ding dong goes the doorbell! I rang it myself.
Shouts of surprise, and with the pounding of feet,
Come tearful smiling faces, quite eager to greet,
A lost vagabond son, recently arrived,
Fresh from the road, and adventures he's survived.
So all turned out well, much to everyone's delight,
We all quite enjoyed, this year's Christmas suprise,
Little remains to be told, but one last thing will I write,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.
The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Interlude)
La Vuelta a la Madre Patria (Return to the Mother Land)
3 tourist visas, 17 countries, 30 different border crossings, and 52 passport stamps. (1)
Three oceans, two continents, one sea, and an isthmus.
Two birthdays, two Thanksgivings, one Christmas, and a presidential election.
One year, 5 months, and 17 days.
20 hours logged in planes, 10 hours in trains, 25 hours in boats, and 775 hours in busses (2).
Thousands of miles, hundreds of friends, nine inches of hair, and countless memories.
A once in a lifetime opportunity.
Overland from Brazil down to the End of the World and back up to the United States. Planned, traveled, realized.
Epic.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes:
3 tourist visas, 17 countries, 30 different border crossings, and 52 passport stamps. (1)
Three oceans, two continents, one sea, and an isthmus.
Two birthdays, two Thanksgivings, one Christmas, and a presidential election.
One year, 5 months, and 17 days.
20 hours logged in planes, 10 hours in trains, 25 hours in boats, and 775 hours in busses (2).
Thousands of miles, hundreds of friends, nine inches of hair, and countless memories.
A once in a lifetime opportunity.
Overland from Brazil down to the End of the World and back up to the United States. Planned, traveled, realized.
Epic.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes:
(1) – For those stuck on the math, I hopped the border into Paraguay from Brazil and back covertly (read illegally), and for Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala, you only get one entry and one exit stamp.
(2) – While ridiculously large (equivalent to 32 days), this number is also slightly deceiving. I only included major bus trips, mainly those trips where I found myself sleeping in a different spot at the end of the trip. Thus this value does NOT include any inner city bus travel, a lot of return day trips, no taxi hours, and none of the time I spent sitting waiting in terminals, on highways, or wherever while inbetween busses. So while it is a MASSIVE number, the actual time spent getting from point A to point B would be much, much larger. The 775 hours is really just part of the story. Nonetheless, I think 775 hours is still pretty impressive.
December 19, 2008
The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Part 1)
Prologue
On July 2nd, 2007 I set off on what I thought would be a 5 month (snicker) adventure. Two months later, I had decided to head back home from Brazil...overland. One year, 5 months, and 14 days later, I decided in the south of Mexico that I did not want to spend another Christmas away from family. I had not seen their faces in nearly a year and a half, not even in a photograph. It was time to go back. And so started the long road home to a Christmas surprise.
To the Coast, Across the Sea
My task was not easy. I had roughly 3000 miles to cover in about a week and a half, combined with some visits to two more cities in Mexico. Leaving Oaxaca on Thursday night (Dec. 11), two buses during the night got me to Cuernavaca early Friday morning on the 12th. After a full day in Cuerna exploring, another overnight bus got me to Guanajuato on the 13th. There I rested, explored, and chilled out until the 15th, a Monday. That afternoon, I made my way to Guadalajara, and then took an overnight bus to Mazatlan on the Pacific coast. That same day, the 16th, I was on the overnight ferry for cargo to La Paz, located in the south of Baja California and on the coast of the Sea of Cortez. The good thing about the cargo ferry was that it cost $80 instead of the $120 passenger ferry, which only left the port the following day; the bad thing about it was that it cost $80, and I had busted my piggy bank a long while back. I had already resolved to hitchhike through Baja, so that fare just made me more determined to do so, and so I made my way from the port to the northern outskirts of La Paz. It took me half the day, but by noon on the 17th, I was ready to start hitch-hiking my way north.
Thumbin' Baja
The strategy for hitchhiking in Latin America is a bit different than the typical stand on the road with your thumb out approach. Sometimes that works, depending on the country you are in, but usually not. A better method is to find your way to a gas station on the outskirts of town and on the highway you wish to travel down. That can be a hard task, as these are usually far from where you are and not usually on any bus routes, so normally you end up walking...a lot. Once at the station, you just start asking people for rides, recruiting the service guys if you can (there are no self service gas stations in Latin America), and mainly you focus on truck drivers. Uncharacteristically easy, I found a ride with the first person I asked, a truck driver on his way to Ensenada, only hour and a half south of Tijuana. Within 5 minutes of arriving at the station, I was on my way once again.
Off we went, cruising along in Alfredo's big rig as I watched the desert and ocean scenery fade away into dusk. We drove on into the night, stopping to sleep at 2 am on the 17th for a nap. Curled up on the front seat, uncomfortable and cold, my backpack propped on the floor to create a makeshift pillow, I couldn't help but smile at my situation. Some would call this crazy, dangerous, and not at all worth the effort. But there I was, shivering through a cold night in the Mexican desert, uncomfortably curled up on the front seat of a big rig trying stubbornly to sleep, yet completely content with my situation. It was the ultimate end to my travels, and I felt I was ending my adventure in the perfect way. I had utilized every possible avenue to get back home overland (bus, boat, and thumb), was ahead of schedule, totally roughing it, and loving every minute of it.
We "overslept" into the brisk, early morning of the 18th, and by 7:00 am Alfredo and I started up the truck and were off again. After more beautiful scenery, we arrived late in the afternoon in the very touristy and Americanized town of Ensenada around 2 pm. I could feel my proximity to the Empire by the overwhelming amount of oversized chain stores with their oversized signs advertising their overextended, imposing American enterprises. Alfredo delivered his load of scrap metal to his client, but it had to be unloaded by hand, which they ended up doing through much of that night. Not having eaten all day, Alfredo and I walked through the back streets of Ensenada to grab some grub.
Lasts
Not wanting to spend money on a hotel, and hoping on a chance that Alfredo's next call would be to Tijuana, I spent the night again in his truck, making a more elaborate but only slightly more comfortable bed out of the two front seats of his cab, my backpack acting as the filler to the space inbetween the seats. Unfortunately it didn't work out that Alfredo could take me to TJ, so after a light breakfast of tacos, we parted ways. As I headed to the bus stop on the 19th of December, I realized that every act I was going through would be my last in Mexico, and my last in a foreign country on this trip. If that doesn't freak you out a bit, I don't know what does, but you can't fight inevitability. One last hour-and-a-half bus brought me to TJ, where I performed some last minute errands (which did not include a visit to one of a plethora of titty bars), and then headed off for one last border. I got one last exit stamp, stood in one last long line, and stepped over into one last country, my country, for the first time in a year and a half.
To be continued...
On July 2nd, 2007 I set off on what I thought would be a 5 month (snicker) adventure. Two months later, I had decided to head back home from Brazil...overland. One year, 5 months, and 14 days later, I decided in the south of Mexico that I did not want to spend another Christmas away from family. I had not seen their faces in nearly a year and a half, not even in a photograph. It was time to go back. And so started the long road home to a Christmas surprise.
To the Coast, Across the Sea
My task was not easy. I had roughly 3000 miles to cover in about a week and a half, combined with some visits to two more cities in Mexico. Leaving Oaxaca on Thursday night (Dec. 11), two buses during the night got me to Cuernavaca early Friday morning on the 12th. After a full day in Cuerna exploring, another overnight bus got me to Guanajuato on the 13th. There I rested, explored, and chilled out until the 15th, a Monday. That afternoon, I made my way to Guadalajara, and then took an overnight bus to Mazatlan on the Pacific coast. That same day, the 16th, I was on the overnight ferry for cargo to La Paz, located in the south of Baja California and on the coast of the Sea of Cortez. The good thing about the cargo ferry was that it cost $80 instead of the $120 passenger ferry, which only left the port the following day; the bad thing about it was that it cost $80, and I had busted my piggy bank a long while back. I had already resolved to hitchhike through Baja, so that fare just made me more determined to do so, and so I made my way from the port to the northern outskirts of La Paz. It took me half the day, but by noon on the 17th, I was ready to start hitch-hiking my way north.
Thumbin' Baja
The strategy for hitchhiking in Latin America is a bit different than the typical stand on the road with your thumb out approach. Sometimes that works, depending on the country you are in, but usually not. A better method is to find your way to a gas station on the outskirts of town and on the highway you wish to travel down. That can be a hard task, as these are usually far from where you are and not usually on any bus routes, so normally you end up walking...a lot. Once at the station, you just start asking people for rides, recruiting the service guys if you can (there are no self service gas stations in Latin America), and mainly you focus on truck drivers. Uncharacteristically easy, I found a ride with the first person I asked, a truck driver on his way to Ensenada, only hour and a half south of Tijuana. Within 5 minutes of arriving at the station, I was on my way once again.
Off we went, cruising along in Alfredo's big rig as I watched the desert and ocean scenery fade away into dusk. We drove on into the night, stopping to sleep at 2 am on the 17th for a nap. Curled up on the front seat, uncomfortable and cold, my backpack propped on the floor to create a makeshift pillow, I couldn't help but smile at my situation. Some would call this crazy, dangerous, and not at all worth the effort. But there I was, shivering through a cold night in the Mexican desert, uncomfortably curled up on the front seat of a big rig trying stubbornly to sleep, yet completely content with my situation. It was the ultimate end to my travels, and I felt I was ending my adventure in the perfect way. I had utilized every possible avenue to get back home overland (bus, boat, and thumb), was ahead of schedule, totally roughing it, and loving every minute of it.
We "overslept" into the brisk, early morning of the 18th, and by 7:00 am Alfredo and I started up the truck and were off again. After more beautiful scenery, we arrived late in the afternoon in the very touristy and Americanized town of Ensenada around 2 pm. I could feel my proximity to the Empire by the overwhelming amount of oversized chain stores with their oversized signs advertising their overextended, imposing American enterprises. Alfredo delivered his load of scrap metal to his client, but it had to be unloaded by hand, which they ended up doing through much of that night. Not having eaten all day, Alfredo and I walked through the back streets of Ensenada to grab some grub.
Lasts
Not wanting to spend money on a hotel, and hoping on a chance that Alfredo's next call would be to Tijuana, I spent the night again in his truck, making a more elaborate but only slightly more comfortable bed out of the two front seats of his cab, my backpack acting as the filler to the space inbetween the seats. Unfortunately it didn't work out that Alfredo could take me to TJ, so after a light breakfast of tacos, we parted ways. As I headed to the bus stop on the 19th of December, I realized that every act I was going through would be my last in Mexico, and my last in a foreign country on this trip. If that doesn't freak you out a bit, I don't know what does, but you can't fight inevitability. One last hour-and-a-half bus brought me to TJ, where I performed some last minute errands (which did not include a visit to one of a plethora of titty bars), and then headed off for one last border. I got one last exit stamp, stood in one last long line, and stepped over into one last country, my country, for the first time in a year and a half.
To be continued...
December 16, 2008
Cuernavaca & Guanajuato
Cuernavaca Photos (4)
Guanajuato Photos (24)
After Oaxaca I made my way up to the region around Mexico City. The early morning hours found me in Puebla after a fitful night of sleep on the bus from Oaxaca, and before the early morning hours were even finished, I was on another bus to Cuernavaca. The purpose of the visit was to scout the town for my Bro, who is thinking about studying abroad either in Cuernavaca or Guanajuato. I arrived at about 8:00, and spent the day exploring the downtown area, the university campus, and meandering around everywhere inbetween. It was pretty cool city of good size, and seemed to offer plenty to do for the crowds of young people milling around. All the students and residents I talked to seemed to enjoy Cuernavaca very much.
Cuernavaca was a cool city with a definite presence of young people. I was only able to spend a day there wandering around the downtown area, the university, etc., and enjoyed the Friday evening street food scene while doing a bit of people watching. Definitely a cool place and I was glad I ended up going there, because if not for the Bro, I would have passed over it.
I, however, was on a schedule, so after spending the day there, I was leaving on a bus that night at 10:00. I passed through D.F. (Mexico City) without stopping, but only because I had spent a week and a half there on a previous occasion. The chaotic streets haphazardly strewn across the city provide an endless maze of exploration in a seemingly endless city. I would recommend a visit to any wanting to go and explore, but I felt the chaos was not worth the trouble for only the couple days I could spend there. Instead I continued on to Guanajuato, already on my list of places to visit in Mexico, but also the other town where my Bro could study.
Finally it was Guanajuato, a city which gets rave reviews from travelers, so I was planning on visiting anyway before my Bro said there was a school there. The town is awesome. Colorful buildings of the Colonial era sprawled in a ravine, with winding, narrow little streets to get lost in while you wander and explore. It had a cool atmosphere and I had a great time exploring the place for a couple days. The verdict is still out though on which would be better to study at: Cuernavaca or Guanajuato. I had more fun visiting Guanajuato, but think I would rather spend my time studying in Cuernavaca; living in a place is much different than visiting it. Luckily, the decision isn't mine to make. =D
Guanajuato Photos (24)
After Oaxaca I made my way up to the region around Mexico City. The early morning hours found me in Puebla after a fitful night of sleep on the bus from Oaxaca, and before the early morning hours were even finished, I was on another bus to Cuernavaca. The purpose of the visit was to scout the town for my Bro, who is thinking about studying abroad either in Cuernavaca or Guanajuato. I arrived at about 8:00, and spent the day exploring the downtown area, the university campus, and meandering around everywhere inbetween. It was pretty cool city of good size, and seemed to offer plenty to do for the crowds of young people milling around. All the students and residents I talked to seemed to enjoy Cuernavaca very much.
Cuernavaca was a cool city with a definite presence of young people. I was only able to spend a day there wandering around the downtown area, the university, etc., and enjoyed the Friday evening street food scene while doing a bit of people watching. Definitely a cool place and I was glad I ended up going there, because if not for the Bro, I would have passed over it.
I, however, was on a schedule, so after spending the day there, I was leaving on a bus that night at 10:00. I passed through D.F. (Mexico City) without stopping, but only because I had spent a week and a half there on a previous occasion. The chaotic streets haphazardly strewn across the city provide an endless maze of exploration in a seemingly endless city. I would recommend a visit to any wanting to go and explore, but I felt the chaos was not worth the trouble for only the couple days I could spend there. Instead I continued on to Guanajuato, already on my list of places to visit in Mexico, but also the other town where my Bro could study.
Finally it was Guanajuato, a city which gets rave reviews from travelers, so I was planning on visiting anyway before my Bro said there was a school there. The town is awesome. Colorful buildings of the Colonial era sprawled in a ravine, with winding, narrow little streets to get lost in while you wander and explore. It had a cool atmosphere and I had a great time exploring the place for a couple days. The verdict is still out though on which would be better to study at: Cuernavaca or Guanajuato. I had more fun visiting Guanajuato, but think I would rather spend my time studying in Cuernavaca; living in a place is much different than visiting it. Luckily, the decision isn't mine to make. =D
December 12, 2008
Oaxaca
Oaxaca Photos (15)
Hierve del Agua Photos (9)
Monte Alban Photos (12)
Mitla Photos (10)
Oaxaca is a gem of a place. I absolutely fell in love with it, and even fate (or just my perpetually forgetful mind) played a hand in making me stay longer. But more on that later.
Santo Domingo, inside and out
L - More doors; R - Christmas time in the Zocalo
First, we should start in on a minor pronunciation lesson. Ditch whatever gringo pronunciation you had in your head (I crashed and burned the first time too, so no worries). In English phonetics it becomes wah-ha-ca. Good. Now let's continue. So what was so great about Oaxaca? Allow me...
Food
Always a wonderful thing, and even better when it is delicious and there is plenty of variety. The Oaxacan cooking is world renowned, and there are countless ways to enjoy it. Shopping the market for fresh cheeses, vegetables, fruits, meats, and the like, there are endless possibilities to supply your homemade Mexican cooking. Don't feel like going to the trouble? Then check out the huge market dedicated just to typical Oaxacan food, or one of the street food stalls that set up around dusk, or splurge on one of the ritzier restraunts on the pleasant Zócalo square or elsewhere on the charming streets of Oaxaca.
One of the Oaxacan specialities are Chapulines, or grasshoppers, fried and seasoned to a wonderful crispy treat. They are a perfect replacement to nuts when enjoying a beer, and go well with Quesidillas, Tacos, etc. Probably every notion you have of them is wrong, as all of us found out, even if some didn't end up liking them. We did the beer and chapulines thing, and I made some chapuline Quesadillas. Here is the photo documentary.
A little cheese, a few chapulines....
Finished product
mmm, mmm, mmm. Delicious!
Hierve del Agua
Meaning boiling water, this is a natural spring, that while bubbly, is anything but boiling. However, it was warm enough out to take a dip in the pools, which are wonderfully situated on a steep hillside with amazing views of the canyon. A calcified set of rock form the Petrified Falls, and the desert landscape full of cacti adds a nice touch.
Pools of Hierve del Agua
R - Petrified Falls
Amazing views
Ruins
There were some cool ruins in the area, which is saying something after coming from Tikal and Palenque. But Monte Alban above the city has amazing views and cool layout. Mitla has some amazing architectural style, even more impressive when you consider it is one of the least restored sights in Mexico. Here are some photos.
L - Main plaza of Mitla; R - Columns in Mitla
Architectural details in Mitla
Mitla Tomb
Ruins and Cathedral (Mitla)
Monte Alban
View from Monte Alban over Oaxaca
People
Adding to the fun was the group I found in the hostel I stayed in. Whether we were wandering the food markets, the sights around Oaxaca, or just chillin in the hostel courtyard, I had a great time with all of them. The night I was to leave, just five minutes before boarding my bus, I realized I had left my passport in a locker back at the hostel. I had trek back at midnight to the hostel and spend another day and night there, but it was a good time once again. Sometimes forgetting stuff can be a good thing.
Hierve del Agua Photos (9)
Monte Alban Photos (12)
Mitla Photos (10)
Oaxaca is a gem of a place. I absolutely fell in love with it, and even fate (or just my perpetually forgetful mind) played a hand in making me stay longer. But more on that later.
Santo Domingo, inside and out
L - More doors; R - Christmas time in the Zocalo
First, we should start in on a minor pronunciation lesson. Ditch whatever gringo pronunciation you had in your head (I crashed and burned the first time too, so no worries). In English phonetics it becomes wah-ha-ca. Good. Now let's continue. So what was so great about Oaxaca? Allow me...
Food
Always a wonderful thing, and even better when it is delicious and there is plenty of variety. The Oaxacan cooking is world renowned, and there are countless ways to enjoy it. Shopping the market for fresh cheeses, vegetables, fruits, meats, and the like, there are endless possibilities to supply your homemade Mexican cooking. Don't feel like going to the trouble? Then check out the huge market dedicated just to typical Oaxacan food, or one of the street food stalls that set up around dusk, or splurge on one of the ritzier restraunts on the pleasant Zócalo square or elsewhere on the charming streets of Oaxaca.
One of the Oaxacan specialities are Chapulines, or grasshoppers, fried and seasoned to a wonderful crispy treat. They are a perfect replacement to nuts when enjoying a beer, and go well with Quesidillas, Tacos, etc. Probably every notion you have of them is wrong, as all of us found out, even if some didn't end up liking them. We did the beer and chapulines thing, and I made some chapuline Quesadillas. Here is the photo documentary.
A little cheese, a few chapulines....
Finished product
mmm, mmm, mmm. Delicious!
Hierve del Agua
Meaning boiling water, this is a natural spring, that while bubbly, is anything but boiling. However, it was warm enough out to take a dip in the pools, which are wonderfully situated on a steep hillside with amazing views of the canyon. A calcified set of rock form the Petrified Falls, and the desert landscape full of cacti adds a nice touch.
Pools of Hierve del Agua
R - Petrified Falls
Amazing views
Ruins
There were some cool ruins in the area, which is saying something after coming from Tikal and Palenque. But Monte Alban above the city has amazing views and cool layout. Mitla has some amazing architectural style, even more impressive when you consider it is one of the least restored sights in Mexico. Here are some photos.
L - Main plaza of Mitla; R - Columns in Mitla
Architectural details in Mitla
Mitla Tomb
Ruins and Cathedral (Mitla)
Monte Alban
View from Monte Alban over Oaxaca
People
Adding to the fun was the group I found in the hostel I stayed in. Whether we were wandering the food markets, the sights around Oaxaca, or just chillin in the hostel courtyard, I had a great time with all of them. The night I was to leave, just five minutes before boarding my bus, I realized I had left my passport in a locker back at the hostel. I had trek back at midnight to the hostel and spend another day and night there, but it was a good time once again. Sometimes forgetting stuff can be a good thing.
December 9, 2008
San Cristobal de las Casas
All Photos (19)
It was back to the mountains after the short trip through the tropical regions, making my second stop in Mexico at San Cristobal. A pleasant town, SC has a good atmosphere, pretty buildings, a very interesting Mayan culture in some of the nearby villages, and some beautiful natural sights nearby.
San Cristobal Church, one of the money colored buildings
Evening over the city
I first wandered to Cañon de Sumidero, taking a boat trip down through the canyon, spotting alligators and enjoying the enclosure of the large cliff walls. It was a very pretty trip, but the light was bad for the photos, so what you see is not nearly as spectacular as what I saw. I want to take us back to the Death Road in Bolivia. They said the canyon walls here were a 1000m high, same as some of the drops on the Death road. So now you can picture riding a bike at the top of these walls only a foot or two from the edge at times. My heart still sinks in my chest just thinking about it. Love it! =D
L - In the canyon; R - "The Christmas Tree," naturally formed by a seasonal waterfall, just a trickle when we were there
I also went to see a Mayan village near SC called Chamula. It appears to be just another Mexican town on the surface, but never judge a book by its cover. The local cathedral may be adorned similar to any other Catholic cathedral in the country, complete with saints and candles and a cross outside sporting the late Pope John Paul II's photo on the base, but it is anything but Catholic. Adopting Catholic symbols under Spanish rule allowed Mayans (as well as Incans in the Andes) to continue with their own traditions. As our guide said, a cross is just two sticks put together in a certain shape, and the actual meaning of the symbol is whatever we give it. Same goes for the saints and candles and on and on. Inside the cathedral, the floor is strewn with fresh pine needles, hundreds of candles burn along with incense, and the people recite prayers and sacrifice chickens in a strictly Mayan tradition that was interesting to experience. We also went and visited a Mayan weaving co-op, and while I think it was a bit staged for the gringo tourists, it got the point across and there was some quality products.
Mayan market in Chamula, the Cathedral in the background
Mayan weaving
Making some tortillas
Simple living. Dirt floored room with three beds for seven people. Bike, closet/dresser, shrine (not shown) and TV (also not shown) compose this room. The kitchen is the above, and another room has all the weaving products. That is the house.
It was back to the mountains after the short trip through the tropical regions, making my second stop in Mexico at San Cristobal. A pleasant town, SC has a good atmosphere, pretty buildings, a very interesting Mayan culture in some of the nearby villages, and some beautiful natural sights nearby.
San Cristobal Church, one of the money colored buildings
Evening over the city
I first wandered to Cañon de Sumidero, taking a boat trip down through the canyon, spotting alligators and enjoying the enclosure of the large cliff walls. It was a very pretty trip, but the light was bad for the photos, so what you see is not nearly as spectacular as what I saw. I want to take us back to the Death Road in Bolivia. They said the canyon walls here were a 1000m high, same as some of the drops on the Death road. So now you can picture riding a bike at the top of these walls only a foot or two from the edge at times. My heart still sinks in my chest just thinking about it. Love it! =D
L - In the canyon; R - "The Christmas Tree," naturally formed by a seasonal waterfall, just a trickle when we were there
I also went to see a Mayan village near SC called Chamula. It appears to be just another Mexican town on the surface, but never judge a book by its cover. The local cathedral may be adorned similar to any other Catholic cathedral in the country, complete with saints and candles and a cross outside sporting the late Pope John Paul II's photo on the base, but it is anything but Catholic. Adopting Catholic symbols under Spanish rule allowed Mayans (as well as Incans in the Andes) to continue with their own traditions. As our guide said, a cross is just two sticks put together in a certain shape, and the actual meaning of the symbol is whatever we give it. Same goes for the saints and candles and on and on. Inside the cathedral, the floor is strewn with fresh pine needles, hundreds of candles burn along with incense, and the people recite prayers and sacrifice chickens in a strictly Mayan tradition that was interesting to experience. We also went and visited a Mayan weaving co-op, and while I think it was a bit staged for the gringo tourists, it got the point across and there was some quality products.
Mayan market in Chamula, the Cathedral in the background
Mayan weaving
Making some tortillas
Simple living. Dirt floored room with three beds for seven people. Bike, closet/dresser, shrine (not shown) and TV (also not shown) compose this room. The kitchen is the above, and another room has all the weaving products. That is the house.
December 6, 2008
A Traveler's Diary - The Day to Day
Caribbean beaches, death roads, mountain treks, lake-side relaxation. My blog is full of the perks of travel. It sounds entirely idealistic, an easy life away from the real world. What if I were to say that the reality of travel is that it is hard? It may sound ridiculous, especially after reading my blog, but I mean it. If traveling isn't hard, then you aren't traveling.
Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining, and I love travel. The rewards are well worth the effort, but they are earned, not given. Travel isn't some road paved in gold and lined with daisies which you can skip along without the slightest care. There are marathon bus rides, new beds nearly every night, dirty clothes, cold showers, suicidal drivers, dietary conundrums, security issues, and cultural awkwardness. You share your bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, and shoulder room on a bus, if not your shoulder itself as a makeshift pillow. This is not vacation. It is trying, it is tiring, and it is hard. There are times you would rather set your bus on fire and dance around its flaming wreckage than be taking another 10 hour, overnight journey, or take an axe to your squeaky bunk bud with its saggy mattress and lumpy pillow. Whether it be transport, clothes, showers, cooking, or sleeping, what we are talking about are daily needs; there is no getting away from them. Suddenly, what may seem like a simple thing, like sleeping in a lumpy bed for a night, suddenly becomes extremely tedious. Let's go over some of these day to day experiences, and we'll let the ball roll where it rolls on the side of travel being difficult or not.
Intra-city bus rides can happen any day, intercity bus rides occur every couple of days, and sometimes for two or three or more days of consecutive bus hopping. I already wrote a whole thing on busses, so if you want more on the joys of bus rides, you can read about it here.
Who doesn’t enjoy a good shower? Good luck finding one of those. Usually you’ll get hot water and no pressure, or plenty of pressure but and not a drop of hot water. Sometimes you won’t get either. To find both is literally a miracle. I think since Argentina I can count on two hands the truly good (heat, pressure, don’t feel gross standing on the floor even in sandals) showers I have had.
What I would give for a pair of clean, fresh clothes to pull on. I don't think mine qualify anymore, even if they have just come out of the wash. Usually I pull on a sweaty shirt to sweat in it again for the 4th time. Laundry is too expensive to be doing all the time, and with the budget, I wear dirty clothes repetitively, going weeks with a shirt, even longer with pants, and we'll just keep the underwear a mystery. They get gross, stiff, and smell, but you have to stretch it out or you will be spending $4-6 every 4-5 days. I have been gone nearly 18 months, or about 540 days, so that would be at least $540 on laundry alone. That is a month of travel in Bolivia, maybe 3 weeks elsewhere. See the predicament? This is why we travelers frequently wear dirty clothes and try to hand-wash them in a sink whenever possible.
Light sleeper? The dorms are not for you, but you can bust a budget avoiding them. People snore, they come and go, sometimes drunk and loud, they laugh, they fix up their packs, they turn the light on and off and on and…nope, just left it on. Rarely, but not unheard of, you may even have the experience of two people rocking the bunk bed squeaky-squeakingly either above or below you, no matter what comments you make or shoes you throw to make them shut up. No shame, I tell you, no shame ‘tall.
Hungry? There is one kitchen to share between 30 of you. Have fun. My fellow travelers, non-Israelis and Israelis alike, will know all to well what I mean when I say that you better hope there isn’t an Israeli dinner party for that night either, or you ain’t a gonna be using the kitchen for a good long while. And don’t be alarmed if you are sharing the left over meals of the generations past of travelers, forever caked onto the eclectic mix of dented pots and pans; you will absorb their residual travel auras which will in turn enhance your own travel adventures.
Si vos podés hablar el español, pon este texto en babelfish y tradúcelo a japonés o algo. Para alguna gente el idioma puede ser otra cosa para frustrarse cada día. El español no es un gran problema para mí, pues hace tiempo que estoy en Latina América, aunque es obvio que mi español no sea perfecto. No puedo comprender como algunas personas puedan viajar por Latina América sin saber casi nada de español, porque a mi me parece que sea un gran lío. Fíjate, es posible, de verdad, pero púchica, sea redifícil y no se pueda conocer la cultura o a la gente tanto, o sea, no puedas realizar completamente tu papel como un viajero. He encontrado tanta gente y he trabado amistad con ellos simplemente porque hablo su idioma. I’m sorry, were you not getting any of that? Welcome to the language gap. It can be a seriously annoying and frustrating reality of your trip without a decent grasp on the language. However, don’t worry too much. If you are an English speaker, the universal lazy obstinacy of native English speakers everywhere to learn other languages just about guarantees that someone speaks English wherever you will be, at least enough for you to get some food or a place to sleep (this is not a slight on those who are trying to learn but are still beginning. Keep it up. I am talking about the people who have been around months and might only know “hello” and “how much does that cost?," if that.). Sometimes I find it frustrating when I want to practice my español and there are all these local people walking around spouting English, pero así es la vida (tampoco es un insulto a todos mis amigos que hablan inglés. Nos hablamos en español bastante, pero uds. pueden imaginar como sería para venir a un país para aprender su idioma, pero se encuentra que todos te hablan a ti en tu idioma).
The backpack. Your life, your baby, your curse, your ball and chain. Travel would be so hard without it. You avoid rolling a bulky suitcase throughout countless city blocks on your way to here or there, and buy the right pack, and it can double for trekking and climbing. On the otherhand, heaving it on and off of busses, trudging around town, and living out of it becomes a chore. You soon dread the inevitable time of packing up, somehow fitting all your stuff that shouldn't fit into the small, confined space of your backpack, possible only after careful, tediously spent time. And as you only carry what you need, it is unavoidable that, soon, what you need is at the bottom of everything else you need, making it impossible to try and stay packed while you visit a place. It is an endless cycle of fold and stuff, search and pull, in and out, out and in, over and over and over again.
Then there is the joy of directions. Latin Americans loooovvveeee to give directions. They love it so much that they will give you directions to a place even if they don’t have the slightest idea about its location. This has sort of been an evolving difficulty. When I started out and only understood maybe 50% of what people said to me about 50% of the time. The other 50% I didn’t understand a thing. This is where mad mime skills can get you through a dialogue that would otherwise be hopeless. That, and asking every few blocks for directions to your destination. These days, I understand everything said to me, which doesn’t always help. People will tell you it is “over there” with a vague hand motion indicating a general direction. This same response is given if the place is a block away or 20 blocks, or even a diagonal 20 blocks. Never mind that you don’t have a clue of the city’s layout or what street the place is on. It is, quite simply, over there. The ultimate irony of the Latin American courtesy comes in with directions in that they absolutely have to give them, as I said earlier, even if they don’t know where the place is. You quickly learn, after walking 8 blocks in the exact wrong direction, that the best method of inquiry is to ask one person, walk a bit in that direction (half block to a block), ask another person, and verify stories. If they agree, you are doing well. If not, find a third person until at least two stories coincide. And what do you do if all you get are numerous corroborations that the place is “just over there?” Walk in the general direction, ask again, continue, and repeat, and the distance should inevitably get smaller. It is, after all, just over there.
So, that about covers all your basics: Travel, hygiene, sleep, food, language, and getting around. Some days every one of them can be a chore, but I said at the beginning that I love travel and the rewards are worth the benefits. That is because for every saggy bed, hard mattress, long walk, confused exchanged, gross kitchen, disgusting bathroom, poor excuse for a shower, there are amazing people, breathtaking sights, amazing meals, and priceless memories. And when you do get that cheap private room, that wonderful mattress and fluffy pillow, the empty spic-and-span kitchen, or that godsend of hot water blasting out endlessly from the showerhead, you rejoice all the more. If you get all that at once, for an affordable price, I imagine you may well be on the verge of tears, although I have yet to find all that in one hostel since I left home. Now you have the other half of the story. Happy travels.
Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining, and I love travel. The rewards are well worth the effort, but they are earned, not given. Travel isn't some road paved in gold and lined with daisies which you can skip along without the slightest care. There are marathon bus rides, new beds nearly every night, dirty clothes, cold showers, suicidal drivers, dietary conundrums, security issues, and cultural awkwardness. You share your bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, and shoulder room on a bus, if not your shoulder itself as a makeshift pillow. This is not vacation. It is trying, it is tiring, and it is hard. There are times you would rather set your bus on fire and dance around its flaming wreckage than be taking another 10 hour, overnight journey, or take an axe to your squeaky bunk bud with its saggy mattress and lumpy pillow. Whether it be transport, clothes, showers, cooking, or sleeping, what we are talking about are daily needs; there is no getting away from them. Suddenly, what may seem like a simple thing, like sleeping in a lumpy bed for a night, suddenly becomes extremely tedious. Let's go over some of these day to day experiences, and we'll let the ball roll where it rolls on the side of travel being difficult or not.
Intra-city bus rides can happen any day, intercity bus rides occur every couple of days, and sometimes for two or three or more days of consecutive bus hopping. I already wrote a whole thing on busses, so if you want more on the joys of bus rides, you can read about it here.
Who doesn’t enjoy a good shower? Good luck finding one of those. Usually you’ll get hot water and no pressure, or plenty of pressure but and not a drop of hot water. Sometimes you won’t get either. To find both is literally a miracle. I think since Argentina I can count on two hands the truly good (heat, pressure, don’t feel gross standing on the floor even in sandals) showers I have had.
What I would give for a pair of clean, fresh clothes to pull on. I don't think mine qualify anymore, even if they have just come out of the wash. Usually I pull on a sweaty shirt to sweat in it again for the 4th time. Laundry is too expensive to be doing all the time, and with the budget, I wear dirty clothes repetitively, going weeks with a shirt, even longer with pants, and we'll just keep the underwear a mystery. They get gross, stiff, and smell, but you have to stretch it out or you will be spending $4-6 every 4-5 days. I have been gone nearly 18 months, or about 540 days, so that would be at least $540 on laundry alone. That is a month of travel in Bolivia, maybe 3 weeks elsewhere. See the predicament? This is why we travelers frequently wear dirty clothes and try to hand-wash them in a sink whenever possible.
Light sleeper? The dorms are not for you, but you can bust a budget avoiding them. People snore, they come and go, sometimes drunk and loud, they laugh, they fix up their packs, they turn the light on and off and on and…nope, just left it on. Rarely, but not unheard of, you may even have the experience of two people rocking the bunk bed squeaky-squeakingly either above or below you, no matter what comments you make or shoes you throw to make them shut up. No shame, I tell you, no shame ‘tall.
Hungry? There is one kitchen to share between 30 of you. Have fun. My fellow travelers, non-Israelis and Israelis alike, will know all to well what I mean when I say that you better hope there isn’t an Israeli dinner party for that night either, or you ain’t a gonna be using the kitchen for a good long while. And don’t be alarmed if you are sharing the left over meals of the generations past of travelers, forever caked onto the eclectic mix of dented pots and pans; you will absorb their residual travel auras which will in turn enhance your own travel adventures.
Si vos podés hablar el español, pon este texto en babelfish y tradúcelo a japonés o algo. Para alguna gente el idioma puede ser otra cosa para frustrarse cada día. El español no es un gran problema para mí, pues hace tiempo que estoy en Latina América, aunque es obvio que mi español no sea perfecto. No puedo comprender como algunas personas puedan viajar por Latina América sin saber casi nada de español, porque a mi me parece que sea un gran lío. Fíjate, es posible, de verdad, pero púchica, sea redifícil y no se pueda conocer la cultura o a la gente tanto, o sea, no puedas realizar completamente tu papel como un viajero. He encontrado tanta gente y he trabado amistad con ellos simplemente porque hablo su idioma. I’m sorry, were you not getting any of that? Welcome to the language gap. It can be a seriously annoying and frustrating reality of your trip without a decent grasp on the language. However, don’t worry too much. If you are an English speaker, the universal lazy obstinacy of native English speakers everywhere to learn other languages just about guarantees that someone speaks English wherever you will be, at least enough for you to get some food or a place to sleep (this is not a slight on those who are trying to learn but are still beginning. Keep it up. I am talking about the people who have been around months and might only know “hello” and “how much does that cost?," if that.). Sometimes I find it frustrating when I want to practice my español and there are all these local people walking around spouting English, pero así es la vida (tampoco es un insulto a todos mis amigos que hablan inglés. Nos hablamos en español bastante, pero uds. pueden imaginar como sería para venir a un país para aprender su idioma, pero se encuentra que todos te hablan a ti en tu idioma).
The backpack. Your life, your baby, your curse, your ball and chain. Travel would be so hard without it. You avoid rolling a bulky suitcase throughout countless city blocks on your way to here or there, and buy the right pack, and it can double for trekking and climbing. On the otherhand, heaving it on and off of busses, trudging around town, and living out of it becomes a chore. You soon dread the inevitable time of packing up, somehow fitting all your stuff that shouldn't fit into the small, confined space of your backpack, possible only after careful, tediously spent time. And as you only carry what you need, it is unavoidable that, soon, what you need is at the bottom of everything else you need, making it impossible to try and stay packed while you visit a place. It is an endless cycle of fold and stuff, search and pull, in and out, out and in, over and over and over again.
Then there is the joy of directions. Latin Americans loooovvveeee to give directions. They love it so much that they will give you directions to a place even if they don’t have the slightest idea about its location. This has sort of been an evolving difficulty. When I started out and only understood maybe 50% of what people said to me about 50% of the time. The other 50% I didn’t understand a thing. This is where mad mime skills can get you through a dialogue that would otherwise be hopeless. That, and asking every few blocks for directions to your destination. These days, I understand everything said to me, which doesn’t always help. People will tell you it is “over there” with a vague hand motion indicating a general direction. This same response is given if the place is a block away or 20 blocks, or even a diagonal 20 blocks. Never mind that you don’t have a clue of the city’s layout or what street the place is on. It is, quite simply, over there. The ultimate irony of the Latin American courtesy comes in with directions in that they absolutely have to give them, as I said earlier, even if they don’t know where the place is. You quickly learn, after walking 8 blocks in the exact wrong direction, that the best method of inquiry is to ask one person, walk a bit in that direction (half block to a block), ask another person, and verify stories. If they agree, you are doing well. If not, find a third person until at least two stories coincide. And what do you do if all you get are numerous corroborations that the place is “just over there?” Walk in the general direction, ask again, continue, and repeat, and the distance should inevitably get smaller. It is, after all, just over there.
So, that about covers all your basics: Travel, hygiene, sleep, food, language, and getting around. Some days every one of them can be a chore, but I said at the beginning that I love travel and the rewards are worth the benefits. That is because for every saggy bed, hard mattress, long walk, confused exchanged, gross kitchen, disgusting bathroom, poor excuse for a shower, there are amazing people, breathtaking sights, amazing meals, and priceless memories. And when you do get that cheap private room, that wonderful mattress and fluffy pillow, the empty spic-and-span kitchen, or that godsend of hot water blasting out endlessly from the showerhead, you rejoice all the more. If you get all that at once, for an affordable price, I imagine you may well be on the verge of tears, although I have yet to find all that in one hostel since I left home. Now you have the other half of the story. Happy travels.
December 4, 2008
Ruined
Tikal Photos (30)
Palenque Photos (19)
Tikal
Leaving behind the chilly Xela nights, I took a two bus combo overnight to El Remate, traversing most of Guatemala. There I hung out in the jungle with a beautiful lake view of Lago Peten Itza, then went and visited the nearby Mayan ruins of Tikal. The early departure time of 5:30 am was worth the experience of walking through the ruins while the jungle woke up, nearly vacant of humans besides a handful of us peacefully enjoying the experience. Spider monkeys fed in the trees, and the howls of howler monkeys reverberated among the trees. Birds began their singing, and while the human traces of Tikal may slowly be withering away with time, what a jungle morning in Tikal a thousand years before was like was not at all hard to imagine.
L - Sunrise view from atop Temple IV; R - Temple I Silhouette
Tikal was a very impressive sight to explore. While many ruins remain covered by jungle, many of the main structures have been cleared of their jungle overgrowth. Most of the areas between ruins, however, remain overrun by the relentless growth save for the walking paths. It adds quite a mysterious element to the experience, and it was hard to picture what the place would have looked like with around 100,000 Mayans living in it. Some temples could be climbed via timber stair cases, though none were open to climbing on the main stone steps. Still, the views were priceless, however you arrived, and I enjoyed wandering between the trees and stone ruins for the day.
L - Temple I and part of the Grand Plaza; R - The ascent of Temple V
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
In Tikal a childhood dream came true in a way. When I was four years old and I first saw Star Wars, A New Hope, I knew that when I grew up, I would be a Jedi and a X-Wing fighter pilot. When reality and fantasy started to become clearer as I grew older, the dream changed and eventually faded away...UNTIL!, climbing the steps of Temple IV of Tikal a cloudy morning in December, 2008, I looked out acrossed the jungle canopy and thought, "Huh, that looks a lot like the rebel base on Yavin IV, where the Millenium Falcon landed after its daring escape from the clutches of Darth Vader on the Death Star, delivering the crucial plans of the Galactic Empire's new super weapon, revealing a potential weakness in the space station's plan which Luke Skywalker was then able to exploit by using the Force and a little help from his friends." If you couldn't tell from the last sentence, I was (am...) quite the fan. Who would have thought that some day I would be where George Lucas once shot a brief frame of maybe 5 seconds, and recognize it immediately as some world of Star Wars? Though I thought I felt the Force a few times, no fallen tree branches flew up off the ground into my hands, and I couldn't Jedi mind trick my friends into buying me any food. Oh well. Here is the photo comparison:
Palenque
After Tikal a full day journey got me across the border into Mexico, and set up to see the ruins of Palenque the next day. Palenque didn't have the towering temples of Tikal, but the complex was of a more elaborate design, and I think I would have rather lived in Palenque than in Tikal, in one of those wild what if questions that can never come true. Here are a couple pictures, but check out the link for more photos on both of the sites.
Top L - Temple of Inscriptions
Top R - Steps up the Temple of the Count
Bott L - Temple of Inscriptions and Palace of Palenque
Palenque Photos (19)
Tikal
Leaving behind the chilly Xela nights, I took a two bus combo overnight to El Remate, traversing most of Guatemala. There I hung out in the jungle with a beautiful lake view of Lago Peten Itza, then went and visited the nearby Mayan ruins of Tikal. The early departure time of 5:30 am was worth the experience of walking through the ruins while the jungle woke up, nearly vacant of humans besides a handful of us peacefully enjoying the experience. Spider monkeys fed in the trees, and the howls of howler monkeys reverberated among the trees. Birds began their singing, and while the human traces of Tikal may slowly be withering away with time, what a jungle morning in Tikal a thousand years before was like was not at all hard to imagine.
L - Sunrise view from atop Temple IV; R - Temple I Silhouette
Tikal was a very impressive sight to explore. While many ruins remain covered by jungle, many of the main structures have been cleared of their jungle overgrowth. Most of the areas between ruins, however, remain overrun by the relentless growth save for the walking paths. It adds quite a mysterious element to the experience, and it was hard to picture what the place would have looked like with around 100,000 Mayans living in it. Some temples could be climbed via timber stair cases, though none were open to climbing on the main stone steps. Still, the views were priceless, however you arrived, and I enjoyed wandering between the trees and stone ruins for the day.
L - Temple I and part of the Grand Plaza; R - The ascent of Temple V
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
In Tikal a childhood dream came true in a way. When I was four years old and I first saw Star Wars, A New Hope, I knew that when I grew up, I would be a Jedi and a X-Wing fighter pilot. When reality and fantasy started to become clearer as I grew older, the dream changed and eventually faded away...UNTIL!, climbing the steps of Temple IV of Tikal a cloudy morning in December, 2008, I looked out acrossed the jungle canopy and thought, "Huh, that looks a lot like the rebel base on Yavin IV, where the Millenium Falcon landed after its daring escape from the clutches of Darth Vader on the Death Star, delivering the crucial plans of the Galactic Empire's new super weapon, revealing a potential weakness in the space station's plan which Luke Skywalker was then able to exploit by using the Force and a little help from his friends." If you couldn't tell from the last sentence, I was (am...) quite the fan. Who would have thought that some day I would be where George Lucas once shot a brief frame of maybe 5 seconds, and recognize it immediately as some world of Star Wars? Though I thought I felt the Force a few times, no fallen tree branches flew up off the ground into my hands, and I couldn't Jedi mind trick my friends into buying me any food. Oh well. Here is the photo comparison:
PalenqueAfter Tikal a full day journey got me across the border into Mexico, and set up to see the ruins of Palenque the next day. Palenque didn't have the towering temples of Tikal, but the complex was of a more elaborate design, and I think I would have rather lived in Palenque than in Tikal, in one of those wild what if questions that can never come true. Here are a couple pictures, but check out the link for more photos on both of the sites.
Top L - Temple of Inscriptions
Top R - Steps up the Temple of the Count
Bott L - Temple of Inscriptions and Palace of Palenque
A Traveler's Diary - Evolution of the Bus Experience
So it all starts with this ten hour bus ride to the border of Brazil. Ten long, boring hours. Sort of an anticlimactic beginning to this adventure that I have planned for the last month, but this is now my life until I get back to the States. Busses, perhaps a rare boat, is where I will be spending too much of my time, beginning with ten hours right now. I guess I have prepared though. I mean, we did 7-9 hour trips through the Nevada deserts in High School for soccer. Of course, there were 20 guys to hang out with, 20 girls to flirt with, as well as music and a movie if we had chartered a tour bus. Now I have myself for company, perhaps a dubbed movie in Portuguese, and if there are any girls, they probably would be really weirded out if I go try to talk to them in my terrible Portuguese. At least I know my friends Miriam and Nilso will be there to pick me up from the terminal. Finding a taxi to their house sounds complicated and is something I would rather not do. Well, I am off. Goodbye Curitiba. Will I ever see you again?
I am awake again. Getting to sleep was hard, and now I have to get off and show my passport and open my bag for the Brazilian border crossing. An arduous procedure, especially being drowsy. But we’re done now. Back on the bus, and back to sleep.
Up again. Another border? Where in the world are we? What time is it? No matter. Get off the bus. Show the pass port. Open the bag. Try to keep from falling to sleep where I stand. Back on the bus. Wait for sleep again.
I have seen my third movie this trip, the second for today. Normally when you watch two movies in a day you feel like so much time has passed. Not now. I am begging for another movie to pass the hours by. It is only mid afternoon, and I have the rest of the day and all night left to go. I have tried to pass the time in other ways. I tried reading, but I got sick. I never have been able to read well in vehicles. I have stared at the bleak, flat, endless land of east Argentina for too many hours, and there are too many more left to go. The only thing more endless than this journey is the fence that continues to pass by outside. There hasn’t been a break in it for as long as I have been watching it…which has been all day. A never ending fence. Who builds a thing like that? Counting the fence posts as they flash past makes me drowsy though, and here comes sleep…
32nd hour, third day. The morning light hurts my eyes. My ever faithful companion is still there, the never-ending fence on this never-ending journey in this never-ending story. A few hours more and I will be off this bus and then back onto another, arriving at my final destination a long 10 hours later. Never again. I will fly. For now, a few more hours sleep. I will need all I can get to keep sane on this next leg.
--Leave Huaraz, Peru at 8:00 pm Saturday night.
--Arrive Trujillo, Peru 5:30 am Sunday morning. Find out I can’t leave until 11:00 pm that night. Wander town, eat, read books, wander some more, eat lunch, use internet, re wander previous wandered streets, see new Batman movie in Spanish, slowly walk to bus terminal, read for final couple hours until the bus leaves.
--Leave Trujillo, Peru at 11:15 pm, Sunday night.
--Arrive Piura, Peru at 5:00 am, Monday morning. Check bags in bus office. Wander to find supposed international bus company a few blocks down and wait for it to open. Fortunately, the bus drivers sleep in the bus station, and let me in to buy my ticket at 6:00 am, then I wander back to the other company to get my stuff. Unfortunately, this company doesn’t officially open until 8:00 am, so I wait outside the door for an hour and a half. Carry my overweight bags back to other company, and wait some more.
--Leave Piura, Peru at 10:10 am Monday morning. Cross Border. The overly astute will realize I am one day over on my visa, but luckily South American passiveness comes in handy, and rather than making a big deal that I am a day over, I am instead waived through customs.
--Arrive Loja, Ecuador at 6:15 pm Monday night. Get some dinner.
--Leave Loja, Ecuador at 8:20 pm Monday night.
* * *
I am finally on the bus after waiting several hours at the Paraguayan border station. It would have been a lot simpler to catch the bus out of the terminal in Asuncion, but I had to make things complicated and catch it at the border. At least it will be direct to Montevideo, Uruguay, a long 16 hours away. There are only three other people on the bus. They are nice, young, traveling in some regard as well. They are all South Americans and thus speak Spanish, so it is hard to understand them at times, but good practice. It is nice to have space to stretch out in and friends to talk to. It is starting to get dark though, and I think I am going to try and sleep through as much of this trip to make it be as short as possible.I am awake again. Getting to sleep was hard, and now I have to get off and show my passport and open my bag for the Brazilian border crossing. An arduous procedure, especially being drowsy. But we’re done now. Back on the bus, and back to sleep.
Up again. Another border? Where in the world are we? What time is it? No matter. Get off the bus. Show the pass port. Open the bag. Try to keep from falling to sleep where I stand. Back on the bus. Wait for sleep again.
* * *
Morning. 8:00 am. 12 hours down, only 25 hours left to go, and lost somewhere in Argentina between Buenos Aires and Rio Gallegos. What have I gotten myself into? I should have flown, who cares what stupid, ridiculous conditions I had set for my trip? Or I should have at least paid the extra $20 for the cama bus with its fully reclining seats. All I have now is the half reclining, fairly comfortable seats that my head slides off of whenever I start to sleep, producing some serious cramps in my neck. What ever was I thinking when I thought it would be better to save $20? Small price to pay for my sanity.I have seen my third movie this trip, the second for today. Normally when you watch two movies in a day you feel like so much time has passed. Not now. I am begging for another movie to pass the hours by. It is only mid afternoon, and I have the rest of the day and all night left to go. I have tried to pass the time in other ways. I tried reading, but I got sick. I never have been able to read well in vehicles. I have stared at the bleak, flat, endless land of east Argentina for too many hours, and there are too many more left to go. The only thing more endless than this journey is the fence that continues to pass by outside. There hasn’t been a break in it for as long as I have been watching it…which has been all day. A never ending fence. Who builds a thing like that? Counting the fence posts as they flash past makes me drowsy though, and here comes sleep…
32nd hour, third day. The morning light hurts my eyes. My ever faithful companion is still there, the never-ending fence on this never-ending journey in this never-ending story. A few hours more and I will be off this bus and then back onto another, arriving at my final destination a long 10 hours later. Never again. I will fly. For now, a few more hours sleep. I will need all I can get to keep sane on this next leg.
* * *
Never say never. So it isn’t 37 hours straight, but it is 3 different buses of 12-14 hours each. A 12 hour day journey, a layover of a couple hours, an overnight to some lame Argentine town I will have to spend the day doing who knows what, then a final overnight bus that will take me to where I want to go. 40 hours of bus time in about 53 hours of travel time. Never, ever, EVER again…until next time…* * *
Oh how I long for the luxury of Chilean or Argentine busses. The movies, the seats, the services, the smoothness of the roads they drove on, the distances they could cover. I would gladly spend 20 hours in one of those busses than 5 in their Bolivian counterparts. But here I am, stuck in a Bolivian “bus,” shake-rattle-and-rollin’ along the windiest road one could possibly conceive. My seat doesn’t recline from its 90 degree angle, the guy with the window seat prefers my shoulder to the window as a pillow, as does the woman perched on a stool in aisle. Chickens chatter from a bag somewhere under one of the seats in front of me and the altiplano folk music – with its shrill voices, electric harp melodies, and haunting similarity between songs – blares out from the scratchy speakers and makes minutes seem like hours. It may be midnight, but I can’t sleep, not just due to the previous list (as if that wasn’t enough), but I am also in the middle of a spout of diarrhea (unavoidable Bolivian experience, no matter how careful you are), I am recovering from altitude sickness (not aided by the fact that I am traveling from a town situated at 10,700 feet to one perched high at 13,600 feet), and when I said we were rattling, I meant so bad that my private area hurts due to the serious amount of turbulence and I can’t wear my jacket against the cold because it is currently acting as a support pillow to said private area. There is no movie and no bathroom until we stop who knows where in the middle of the night to pee in the street, the countryside or the middle of a town a trifling detail. This may only be an 8 hour trip (actual time) of the promised 6 hour duration (as given in the office), but I am completely serious when I say it is the longest bus ride I have ever had to endure.* * *
I stroll confidently past the shouting ticket vendors yelling out their bus’ destination 30 times in 10 seconds, past the blanket vendors, food vendors, and shoelace salesmen, all the people with gum. I don’t even think about it really, it is all so normal now. To think that this all seemed so foreign and strange and even a bit scary to me before, but it is just another day in my life now. I ask for a ticket, bargain down the price a bit, ask when it leaves, knowing it will be 15 minutes past the time given when we finally roll out. Minimum. Is it direct? Sí, sí señor. Definitely isn’t. Will I have to change busses? No, es directo señor, no te preocupes. One, maybe two bus changes. How long will it take? 8 hours. Ok, make it 16.* * *
Record marathon journey thus far:--Leave Huaraz, Peru at 8:00 pm Saturday night.
--Arrive Trujillo, Peru 5:30 am Sunday morning. Find out I can’t leave until 11:00 pm that night. Wander town, eat, read books, wander some more, eat lunch, use internet, re wander previous wandered streets, see new Batman movie in Spanish, slowly walk to bus terminal, read for final couple hours until the bus leaves.
--Leave Trujillo, Peru at 11:15 pm, Sunday night.
--Arrive Piura, Peru at 5:00 am, Monday morning. Check bags in bus office. Wander to find supposed international bus company a few blocks down and wait for it to open. Fortunately, the bus drivers sleep in the bus station, and let me in to buy my ticket at 6:00 am, then I wander back to the other company to get my stuff. Unfortunately, this company doesn’t officially open until 8:00 am, so I wait outside the door for an hour and a half. Carry my overweight bags back to other company, and wait some more.
--Leave Piura, Peru at 10:10 am Monday morning. Cross Border. The overly astute will realize I am one day over on my visa, but luckily South American passiveness comes in handy, and rather than making a big deal that I am a day over, I am instead waived through customs.
--Arrive Loja, Ecuador at 6:15 pm Monday night. Get some dinner.
--Leave Loja, Ecuador at 8:20 pm Monday night.
--Arrive at Riobamba, Ecuador at 6:30 am Tuesday morning. Flag taxi cab to hotel, crash in my room at 7:30 am, Tuesday Morning.
8:00 Saturday night until Tuesday morning at 7:30. 4 busses, 5 towns, 60 hours travel time. Never? Ha! Won’t be using that word this time!
8:00 Saturday night until Tuesday morning at 7:30. 4 busses, 5 towns, 60 hours travel time. Never? Ha! Won’t be using that word this time!
* * *
Professionally dressed staff, passenger only waiting room with cable TV, and people telling you exactly where you need to go and when you need to be there. Thumbprint on the page, smile for the video camera, and be confused as to whether you should be happy for the security measures to make your journey safer, or if you should be concerned that there is a need for measures such as fingerprinting and video footage of all passengers. Plush leather seats, flat screen TVs, and the bus equivalent of flight attendants. The sound of keyboard elevator music and the “fresh” scent of seven emptied aerosol canisters fill the interior. So this is what Peruvians consider luxury bus service. Not too shabby, you think to yourself, but you also can’t help but wonder how many Peruvians missed the bus as it pulls out of the terminal exactly on time.* * *
Chicken Busses are the way to roll in Central America. All dogs may go to heaven, but all the old school busses you went to school in back in the day go to Central America, get painted in bright, flashy, retro colors, are packed with people and things (breaking every school bus rule you ever learned), and are rallied to their destinations like no bus driver in the States could ever accomplish, except for maybe Otto on The Simpsons. I love ‘em and I hate ‘em, but I need ‘em, and they are carrying me in retro style and smoking glory back home.November 22, 2008
Xela
Xela Photos (27)
The visit to Xela (pronounced Shay-la) was twofold. One, try to make my Spanish a bit better before getting back to the States, and two, to stop in one spot long enough to get a debit card sent down to me since mine was stolen in Nicaragua.
View from Edna's home.
Cathedral at night.
Xela's Cemetery
The Spanish went well. I had a good teacher who taught me quite a bit, which was no small task considering I just showed up with a random mass of knowledge in the language, and she had to figure out what I needed and what I didn’t to keep me engaged for my 5 hour daily lessons. Props to Lucy for pulling it off.
I lived with a wonderful family, which was an awesome experience. The mother and kids and roommates were all great. Edna was our host mom, incredibly nice, and a wonderful cook. I didn’t see much of her daughter, Titi, as she was studying intensely for a math final in school, but her 8-year-old son, Fernandito, grew pretty attached to us. The “us” would be the three students: myself, Miriam from Germany, and Hannah from the States. Heidi and Edna’s father also lived in the house, but I didn’t see much of them either; we all had our schedules and such. I also met Edna’s sister, Lesley, and her husband, Mike, who is from the States as well but lives in Xela with his wife and newborn son, Jeremy. That kid is to die for. Absolutely adorable. Mike has a ministry down in Central America working with groups all over helping out with their needs, mainly in Church construction. He invited me to come back down this summer. We’ll see if it will happen, and I know my parents are thrilled to hear that. =D
The fam:
L - Los Chicos, Fernandito & Jeremy; Miriam, Fernandito, & Hannah
Jeremy showing us how to look adorable.
Chillin' with the Fernandito
Pizza dinner.
Miriam, Hannah, and I lived together for a week. In that time we hung out at the house, went to a pretty rockin’ water park, and then watched the curse of Xela wreak havoc on the lives and health of the girls. Hannah, already nursing a 2 week cough, all of sudden ended up in the hospital for a night, and was in too much pain to do much afterward. She would have occasional coughing fits that were painful enough to watch, let alone have to go through. Xela nights are cold (we were at 7,200 feet...). She and Miriam were planning to leave to go somewhere warmer, but then that curse set in and the day before the scheduled exit Miriam got some sort of stomach flu. Even the night before they left, Miriam still wasn’t eating and Hannah still had a debilitating cough and was still in lots of pain. I was getting anxious waiting for my debit card to arrive, wondering if something ominous would come to pass with my health with each passing day I stayed in Xela. Hopefully the warm weather will help them both recover quickly.
I was in Xela a total of 2 1/2 weeks, but only stayed with Edna for a week. She had family visiting from the States, so we all had to move out so there would be some room in the house. I ended up with another family, friends of Edna’s, and very friendly and accommodating. It was a blessing getting to know the kind couple and there cute children. Those three, David, Daniel, and Nicole, are a handful, let me tell you. To all you who work with kids day in and day out, and to those who raise or raised them, mad props.
After the debit card came in, I was off again, seeking out ancient Mayan ruins amongst the jungles of northern Guatemala. But that is another story, for another time…soon.
The visit to Xela (pronounced Shay-la) was twofold. One, try to make my Spanish a bit better before getting back to the States, and two, to stop in one spot long enough to get a debit card sent down to me since mine was stolen in Nicaragua.
View from Edna's home.
Cathedral at night.
Xela's Cemetery
The Spanish went well. I had a good teacher who taught me quite a bit, which was no small task considering I just showed up with a random mass of knowledge in the language, and she had to figure out what I needed and what I didn’t to keep me engaged for my 5 hour daily lessons. Props to Lucy for pulling it off.
I lived with a wonderful family, which was an awesome experience. The mother and kids and roommates were all great. Edna was our host mom, incredibly nice, and a wonderful cook. I didn’t see much of her daughter, Titi, as she was studying intensely for a math final in school, but her 8-year-old son, Fernandito, grew pretty attached to us. The “us” would be the three students: myself, Miriam from Germany, and Hannah from the States. Heidi and Edna’s father also lived in the house, but I didn’t see much of them either; we all had our schedules and such. I also met Edna’s sister, Lesley, and her husband, Mike, who is from the States as well but lives in Xela with his wife and newborn son, Jeremy. That kid is to die for. Absolutely adorable. Mike has a ministry down in Central America working with groups all over helping out with their needs, mainly in Church construction. He invited me to come back down this summer. We’ll see if it will happen, and I know my parents are thrilled to hear that. =D
The fam:
L - Los Chicos, Fernandito & Jeremy; Miriam, Fernandito, & Hannah
Jeremy showing us how to look adorable.
Chillin' with the Fernandito
Pizza dinner.
Miriam, Hannah, and I lived together for a week. In that time we hung out at the house, went to a pretty rockin’ water park, and then watched the curse of Xela wreak havoc on the lives and health of the girls. Hannah, already nursing a 2 week cough, all of sudden ended up in the hospital for a night, and was in too much pain to do much afterward. She would have occasional coughing fits that were painful enough to watch, let alone have to go through. Xela nights are cold (we were at 7,200 feet...). She and Miriam were planning to leave to go somewhere warmer, but then that curse set in and the day before the scheduled exit Miriam got some sort of stomach flu. Even the night before they left, Miriam still wasn’t eating and Hannah still had a debilitating cough and was still in lots of pain. I was getting anxious waiting for my debit card to arrive, wondering if something ominous would come to pass with my health with each passing day I stayed in Xela. Hopefully the warm weather will help them both recover quickly.
I was in Xela a total of 2 1/2 weeks, but only stayed with Edna for a week. She had family visiting from the States, so we all had to move out so there would be some room in the house. I ended up with another family, friends of Edna’s, and very friendly and accommodating. It was a blessing getting to know the kind couple and there cute children. Those three, David, Daniel, and Nicole, are a handful, let me tell you. To all you who work with kids day in and day out, and to those who raise or raised them, mad props.
After the debit card came in, I was off again, seeking out ancient Mayan ruins amongst the jungles of northern Guatemala. But that is another story, for another time…soon.
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