The post that no one wants to read

If I were you I would not be interested in reading this post. I mean there are no horror stories about bus rides, no self-deprecating tales about my own ignorance and stupidity, no insightful observations about the social ills afflicting Chiapas (one of the poorest places in Mexico), only a few poorly worded sentences about what paradise is like.

Paradise is a deserted beach on the Pacific Ocean with warm clear waters. I start my days in paradise by either going for a 7:30 a.m. Swim (made possible by the incredibly warm waters), or by ordering a fantastic cup of organic coffee (the only real luxury available here), and reading the BBC in Spanish using the now available (and pirated from the only place within 20 km to have wifi) internet connection I have at my disposal. Following that I will wile away the rest of the day on the beach, in the water, or reading a book in a hammock. (Everyone should experience what it is like to have nothing better to do than fall asleep in a comfortable hammock whenever the mood strikes.) Evenings are spent sipping beers and playing cards, though bedtime comes early here, and I am usually asleep by 10:30. I am sleeping like a baby here, usually for about 9 or 10 hours per night.

My plans for Mexico really did grind to a halt when I arrived here. Originally I thought two or three days would be the max. I am now on day seven. Sadly, this laid back lifestyle won't last much longer and tomorrow I will say goodbye to this incredible place. It will be back to Cancun, for what will be a much different beach experience,before heading off into a much more difficult traveling/studying situation.

This experience, which has been so reminiscent of the 10 days I spent on Don Det, Laos is something that everyone really must make a priority to experience at least once in their lives. The relative isolation, the peaceful atmosphere, and the gorgeous location do not exist for a vacation destination. They exist for those who travel, for those who back their bags and go looking for them, and even then you have to get pretty lucky to find them.

Cheers from Paradise.

The redlight district of San Cristobal

I love tamales. Always have, always will. Thus, I came to Mexico in search of one thing, and one thing only: the best damn tamales I have ever eaten. That dream was realized a few nights ago in San Cristobal, and strangely enough it was with the help of the ol' LP.

A small text box in the San Cristobal section read something like this. "On Saturdays and Wednesdays follow Calle Leon past the corn fields, and look for a makeshift red light on the left hand side of the road, just before the bridge. There will be a woman selling tamales there. They are the best tamales in the world."

Skeptical, but intrigued, Natalie and I set off in search of this mythical tamale lady. We wandered out of town, past the corn fields, and suddenly there it was! The red light hanging above a door. We walked up to the house and I peered inside. "Hola" I called out, "¿uh...tienes tamales?" "Si" replied the woman, lifting the lid off of two large pots filled with tamales. Phew, I'm not just going to be some crazy gringo sticking his head into some woman's house asking for tamales.

We chose four to start with, two chicken and two pork. Sitting on the side of the road in an empty part of town we watched the full moon rise over the corn fields while we munched on what truly were the greatest tamales I have ever eaten. Thanks LP.

The NOISE!

I've been a bit quiet on here lately. This owes mainly to the fact that I am in paradise. That's right paradise. For the time being I'm going to keep quiet about where this paradise is, and am only going to say the following:

• It's in Mexico.


• It has the cleanest beach I have ever seen, and the water is about the temperature of a bathtub.
  
• And finally, and this is the kicker, it is completely deserted. Aside from a very small handful (probably ten or less) international travelers, there is no one on the beach, which spans for miles and miles, other than a couple of fishermen.

But let's back up a bit, there are interesting stories to be told. It all starts in San Cristobal, which just so happened to be hosting the Festival of Guadalupe, or Dia de Guadalupe as it is known in Mexico (though dia implies that it only lasts one day and that was certainly not the case). So there is some saint here in Mexico named Guadalupe, apparently the Virgin Mother (Mary) appeared to her in a vision one time told her to do something, and now she is a saint. I'm overstating my ignorance a bit, but not much.

Anyway...the story really has nothing to do with why there is this festival, but rather with the festival itself. Every year one city in southern Mexico is chosen to host the festival, and this year that city was San Cristobal. Then churches put together what I can only describe as teams of runners, who then travel from wherever their church is to San Cristobal running along the side of the highway carrying a torch. If running down the crazy-ass highways of Mexico doesn't sound terrible enough the trucks that carry the runners who are resting slowly drives behind the runner blasting a car alarm at around 100 decibels to announce its presence. Try to picture it. There you are risking your life running in 90 degree heat on these fucked up roads with vans and trucks whipping by six inches away from you, and behind you is a truck blasting BEEP BEEP BEEP, RYAA RYAA, ANH ANH ANH. Oh, and just to top it off, for some reason I can't even begin to comprehend, you have to wear a sheep hide vest over your clothes.

So I was feeling a lot of sympathy for these dedicated kids busting their asses because of their faith, and was really enjoying the festive atmosphere that enveloped the city. But that was only on the first night.

By the second night my sympathy was gone. Replaced with growing resentment, that began boiling over into outright anger. The thing was the party just never ended. Which meant the fireworks NEVER ENDED. Which meant the Mariachi bands NEVER STOPPED PLAYING. And above all else it meant that the runners NEVER STOPPED COMING, and thus the CAR ALARMS NEVER STOPPED BLAIRING. EVER.

By four a.m. on the second night I couldn't take it anymore. It was absolutely impossible to sleep. Even with ear plugs the constant music being played by a drunken mariachi band, the innumerable explosions of bottle rockets, and the incessant whine of car alarms was too much to bear. I began practicing my Spanish in my head. It was everything that I wanted to say to the all night revelers (and bear in mind this was not a one night party. I had arrived on what was either night 7 or 8 of an 8 or 9 night party). It went a little something like this (though I have translated it back into English for your benefit).

“This noise, this non-stop over-the-top fucking noise is what is causing all the problems in your society. This is why Chiapas is rife with poverty while other areas of the country prosper. This is why alcoholism is rampant, and why domestic violence has become such a huge problem. This is why children here are far behind the rest of the country in terms of education. The list of socio-economic issues goes on and on, and it is all because of this fucking noise! No one can sleep, how can the children learn anything in school? No one can sleep, how can the men go to work in the morning. No one can sleep, the men are all getting drunk. No one can sleep.

I was getting pretty poetic in my four a.m. Rant, which at the time seemed to make perfect sense, it was similar to Rudy Giuliani's No Broken Windows plan for cleaning up crime in N.Y. City in the 90s. As you probably well know by now if you have ever read Freakonomics this wasn't what cleaned up N.Y. City and it probably wouldn't alleviate any of the social issues plaguing Chiapas either, but man did it feel good to rant in my head, in Spanish, at four in the morning.

San Cristobal and the worst two hours of my life.

As I write this I am sitting in a gorgeous cafe in the heart of San Cristobal, Chiapas. I lack the words to describe the beauty of this town at the moment. It is truly breathtaking.

I do not lack the words to describe the bus ride here, however. Simply put it was probably two of the worst hours of my life. It all started after writing my last post about how wonderful all the food here is. So I'm sure you know where this is going. After spending a night and morning in my hotel room (and mainly in the bathroom) in utter agony it was time to make a decision; a.) I could stay in Ocosingo for another night and hopefully recover, or b.) I could brave two hour bus ride to San Cristobal which I was sure would be a nicer town, and was a place I had really been looking forward to getting to and stopping for several days. I chose option b.

With my stomach churning, my bowels rumbling, and my body aching I popped a Cipro and an Imodium and hopped on a colectivo bound for San Cristobal. The problem was not with me, it was really with the road. First, I must explain that Mexico has a serious love affair with speed bumps (topes in Spanish). They are everywhere. I do not think it is an exageration to say that in the 98 km between Ocosingo and San Cristobal we went over at least a hundred of them. Everytime this would happen my stomach would do a backflip and I would clench my fists and pray that I wouldn't "blow chuncks" all over the woman in front of me.

The second problem was the snake-like nature of the road. It twisted and turned in every direction possible, and, provided there was not a tope to slow us down, we whipped around the corners at speeds that would make a Formula One racer nervous. Green in the face, and in more pain that seemed normal for food poisoning I gripped the edge of the seat tightly and prayed it would end without incidence. Fortunately it did, and upon arriving In San Cristobal I checked into a wonderful posada and slept myself back to health.

So that's the story, I'm healthy again (though Nat keeps disappearing into the bathroom while I write this), and ready for more of San Cristobal's colonial charm.

Reasons I love traveling

It's strange that today is only day 4 of what could be a very long trip. Already I feel like I have been on the road for ages, and it seems like my last trip never really ended. And you know what? I'm totally OK with that.

I'm sure there will be many hard times ahead, and that I will not always feel as I do now, but until then all I can say is that I love being homeless in Latin America. Being back here is like stepping into a familiar pair of jeans, or lying in your own bed after being away from home for a while (Wait a minute! Is that a contradiction...). The point is I feel very at home without a home.

I am truly loving Mexico. Beyond a doubt the largest source of joy has been the food. How can anyone live without eating a delicious stack of warm tortillas with every meal. No matter what I eat tortillas are a part of the meal. I love stuffing a few pieces of chicken, pork, or beef along with some frijoles and picante into the delicious corn wrappers and scarffing them down. It never ceases to put a smile on my face. Also, if you can't tell from that last sentence my vegitarianism has ground to a halt. I have had meat with at least two meals everyday since I got here and can't imagine eating anything else. This morning's breakfast (which cost two dollars for both Nat and I) consisted of a quarter of a grilled chicken doused in lime and picante, frijoles, a large stack of tortillas, and an orange juice. YUM!!!!!!!!!!

OK all this talk of food is making me hungry, I'm headed to find some pork tacos. Hasta pronto.

The Fucking Bus Company (ADO)

The title pretty much sums this post up. So there we were, in Cancun and ready to hit the road. We had just gorged ourselves on some delicious roadside tacos, and were in the bus station waiting to head to Palenque. The bus was set to leave at 7:30, and we made sure we were there around half an hour early.

Around 7:15 we still had not seen a bus pull in to Bay 1 which was where we had been told to wait. Natalie went to the door that everyone has to pass through in order to board and asked the woman collecting tickets if the bus had arrived. "Un momento" was the answer. At 7:25 with no bus still in sight I went up to the woman, showed her our tickets, and asked about the status of the bus. Again I was told it had not arrived. "En seguro" "Are you sure" I said. "Si" was the reply. Our conversation went on for a couple of more minutes with her again examing our tickets and telling me the bus had not arrived. At 7:34 Natalie jumped from her seat. "The bus is pulling away" she shouted, as she ran for the door. It was to late. The bus, which had been parked in a different bay, did not stop.

I began explaining the situation to another woman who had come over. Speaking in rapid Spainsh that was difficult to understand she basically told me that I should have got on the bus at 7:30 at turned her back on me. As she stood talking to someone else I again tried to question her, though she simply turned and told me to go to customer service.

I made my way to the customer service booth in a rage. Amazingly my Spanish didn't falter, in fact it seemed to improve, as I rapidly explained the entire situation to the man working at the booth. He looked up the next bus, which was only an hour later and told us that there were two seats left, but that we would have to pay again. In a lot of countries this would not be such a big deal, but the buses in Mexico are exprensive and this was a first class bus, which cost nearly $100 for both our tickets. Furious, I responded that we were getting on the next bus at 8:30, and that we were not paying for our tickets. The banter went back and forth for a minute or two until he got his supervisor, who also informed me that we had to pay. After several minutes of arguing he said they would pay %50. It was better than nothing, and we REALLY wanted to get the hell out of Cancun, so an hour later and fifty dollars lighter we boarded the bus for what was to be the most expensive ride I have ever taken.

Fifteen hours later I was lying on the bed of my private cabaña, happy to finally be away from Cancun and on the road.

After a day of lazing about we made our way to the fabulous ruins of Palenque this morning. Truly an amazing site (though not as great as Tikal), and to top it all off it's about 85 out right now.

I hear Seattle's expecting snow this weekend...

Well, if you will excuse me I have to make a call to the head of ADO in Cancun and try to get my money back. Wish me luck!

And so it begins...again.

It's strange, the similarities between the start of this grand adventure and my last. Both times I packed my belongings away in storage. Both times I said goodbye to my friends and family. Both times I boarded a flight to Cancun, unsure of what lay ahead.

But that's where the similarities end, and the differences begin. Already I amazed at how different this trip is. The nervous feeling in my stomach is gone. I'm speaking Spanish well (OK not too well, but good enough for now). And perhaps the biggest difference is that I am not alone. Embarking on such a grand adventure with a partner (and a wonderful one at that) is truly a blessing. While I would not trade last year's expereince for anything in the world, I am glad to be sharing this adventure with Natalie.

I spent a good portion of my flight yesterday mulling over these thoughts as we cruised through the skies at 35,000 feet. Finally we arrived. After easily clearing immigration (something that felt like an incredible challenge last year), I stepped outside into the humid evening air with a feeling of deja vu. Wasn't I just here???

The bus ride into town was short, and it was when I stepped out of the bus station that I realized how much my last trip changed me. As we walked towards our hotel I remembered walking down the same street last year hopelessly lost, and unable to ask directions. My hotel was only four blocks from the bus station and I stumbled around for what seemed like ages before I finally arrived. This time I navigated my way towards the hotel with confidence doging traffic and potholes like a pro. As we walked through the back streets of Cancun I remembered that a year ago I thought I was in an incredibly impovershed area. Walking the same streets last night it was hard not to laugh at myself for being so naive. These were not poor barrios, whose residents struggled to make ends meet, these were middle class homes with nice vehicles parked out front. What a difference a year makes.

I'm happy, healthy, and ready for anything. Unfortunately, right now that anything is an all night bus ride to Palenque. ARGH!