Flying Downhill 13th-15th March

March 13th
In the morning we can really see why this town is so loved. The ancient churches against a backdrop of gigantic volcanos make for some spectacular scenery. We spend a good part of the morning visiting the maze-like, colorful marketplace and mailing thank-you postcards to all our friends in Mexico. I hope they all make it there despite the sluggish and rather incompetent mail services in these countries.

Today since we're starting at 5,029ft and heading to the coast, our road is basically all downhill. It's awesome except for the fact that there are a number of unmarked speed bumps and extremely narrow bridges. We wind our way down between the two enormous volcanos, at one point passing what appears to be the remnants of a previous lava flow.

Big and beautiful volcano!

It's not long before our road turns into a dusty highway that will take us out the the coast. Early afternoon, dripping in sweat, we stop at Dominos for ice cream and lunch. We end up talking to the friendly security guard for a while (yes there is a guy with a shotgun guarding Domino's pizza) and someone gives us free cinnamon sticks. Nice!
In the late afternoon we ride along a quiet road by the coast. All the people we see are very friendly and wave as we pass by. One lady selling fruits by the road side gives us several for free when she learns we've never eaten them before. They look sort of like peppers, but are  extremely watery and rather tasteless. We appreciate the gesture nonetheless and share our cinnamon sticks with her and her kids.
After arriving in Monterrico we go in search of a place to camp on the beach. Without too much effort we find a spot by a restaurant for a small amount of money. The sand is black (volcanic) and the undertow of the ocean waves so vicious even I don't want to go in the ocean. Luckily after we eat dinner there's a huge thunderstorm and we run out in the glorious rain to cool down. Did I mention that it's hot here? It's just so hot.

A delicious licuado (strawberries, milk and ice) that helped quell the heat.

March 14th
Neither of us sleep well due to the heat and a drunken party behind our tent. In the morning we take our bikes to the Tortugario, a center for the protection of the animals who live in the mangroves here. We are sad to see that it is overgrown and filled with mosquitos, the water in the enclosures so murky that you can barely see the creatures inside. Since we can't find anywhere that rents kayaks we hire a guide to take us out into the mangrove forests.

Our guide is named Sergio and the boat he takes us out on is a simple wooden barge, moved with a long pole. It's quiet and perfect for viewing birds. 

In the mangroves.

We see about 25 species, including several new ones. Sergio tries to educate us about birds but we already know more than him. We still appreciate his effort. We are impressed by how much of these mangrove forests are conserved until he takes us out to see where iguanas lay their eggs and we walk into a huge field of just harvested corn.

Us: "we thought this area was conserved?!"
Sergio: "well you can still grow corn, of course"
That's Guatemalan conservation for you.

In the afternoon we learn about another aspect of Guatemalan culture. Monterrico happens to be a hot spot for people from the city to visit on weekends. Basically the rich people in Guatemala all come here to get drunk. This means prices for hotels go sky high, but luckily we're able to find a reasonable rate for a room and a pool! The pool provides a much needed refuge from the heat.
A few things we notice about the Guatemalan elite:
1) They are mostly overweight. I don't see a single person at our hotel, except for young kids, who is not noticeably overweight. Perhaps this is a symbol of status?
2) A lot of them are extremely rude. They honk impatiently and then barely look at the guy who opens the gate, or they are served food and don't even look at the waitress, never mind say thank you. It seems that there is a big gap between the social classes here, and the people with more money like to make that clear.
3) All things American seem to be good. One guy tells us he was raised in the US, although based on his English I would say that his story is highly unlikely. Another guy sports American flag swim shorts with matching towel.
Of course these are huge generalizations and I in no way mean to imply that every rich person in Guatemala is like this. This is simply what we noticed from the people we saw or met.

March 15th
We wake up early and take a small motorboat through the mangroves to La Avellana. There is no road here, so boat is the only option. It's kind of nice to begin our morning in this way.

Bikes in the boat

In La Avellana we are greeted by a bunch of surly men on the dock. It's Sunday, so I'm pretty sure some of them are already drunk. We bike out quickly. The pavement on our road is in horrible disrepair but there is next to no traffic and the people we pass are friendly. It's quite a nice ride. Around 11 it starts to get unbearably hot. When we can't take the heat anymore we stop for lunch at a small place blasting cheerful music. Not long after lunch we reach the border town and find a small hotel for the night. Heading into El Salvador tomorrow!

Our current location

We're going to spend the next few days following highway 2 along the El Salvador coast.

Chicken Bus and Volcanoes to Antigua

"Chicken buses" are everywhere in Guatemala and, we hear, Central America.  They are repurposed US school buses painted in flashy red and green, and often they sport a weird mix of religious and amorous decals, such as "Jesus Lives" juxtaposed with "This Bus is My Baby" or something like that, both huge and right in the middle of the windshield.  The drivers don't seem to worry about not being able to see the road.  Whenever someone gets on, the luggage is thrown on the roof rack and the bus begins driving away at breakneck speed while the driver's helper ties the luggage on.  When he finishes, he climbs down the back ladder, opens the rear door, and goes inside to collect the fare from passengers.  It's a busy job.  We've seen numerous guys hanging on the backs of buses for dear life while flying down the highway.

Photo credit: drlopezfranco on flickr

We had no desire to bike up the incredibly steep and narrow road back to Solola and the main highway, so we took one of those buses up the hill this morning.  We implored the guys to be careful with our bikes, then cringed as they threw them on top with the rest of the luggage.  We changed buses in Solola and disembarked in the junction town of Los Encuentros, feeling thoroughly Guatemalan.  Ride a chicken bus... check!  

Even after the rough treatment, only a water bottle cage was bent, thank goodness, so we started pedaling toward Antigua.  Mostly downhill, beautiful overlooks of the lake and its surrounding volcanoes, and the cool temperature at high altitude all made for a nice ride.  

Around midday we entered a big valley with some volcanoes ahead, and as we were watching, one of them started to erupt!  It wasn't sending out huge lava rocks, but there was definitely an expanding plume of gray ash.  We looked around... umm, should we be concerned about this?  No one else seemed to notice, so we figured it was a regular occurrence and continued on our way.

The traffic increased as we neared Antigua, so we were happy to finally arrive in the city.  After wandering around a bit trying to find someone with enough managemental clout to override the silly rule that RVs, but not tents, can camp on the grounds of the tourist police station, we finally gave up and found the cheapest hostel in town, which turned out to be surprisingly nice.  

Antigua is a very picturesque old town with incredible churches everywhere, and it's also super touristy.  We'll be enjoying it for what it is, especially speaking English with people other than each other, which is kind of like being allowed to write again with your dominant hand.  Hostels are great for meeting other travelers, or so I'm learning; we'll be sharing our dorm tonight with new friends from all over the world.

Lake Atitlán

Today we sat by the lake, wrote postcards, and ate tons of fresh tortillas, cheese, beans, and veggies.

The visibility was pretty bad, I think due to the volcanoes acting up, but this was still a nice place to spend a rest day.  Tomorrow we're going to catch a bus up the narrow, 25% uphill section that we came down, then bike on the CA-1, the Pan-American highway, to Antigua.  At least that's the plan.

Mountains and Maya, March 9-10

The market in Huehuetenango is absolutely crazy.  There are shops on top of shops on both sides of the street, loud music and audio advertising, and people walking around selling random things.  One lady was advertising rat and ant poison, then she switched a few minutes later to marijuana for back and bone pain.  Go figure.  The markets in Mexico are usually inside a big designated building or warehouse, but here it was all happening with traffic going by on this narrow, one-way street.  At one point a truck decided to go through, the mirrors hitting every vendor's umbrellas on both sides.  We bought a few things and left the craziness as fast as we could.

We spent part of the morning debating whether to go west or south, to the remote highlands or the more popular highlands.  Everywhere except the coast, we're learning, is highlands in Guatemala.  We decided to take the road more traveled, the Pan-American Highway.  Robert Frost might be disappointed, but the popular places are known for a reason, not to mention the security risks we had heard about remote Guatemalan roads.

The day's ride started with some rolling hills, then it turned all uphill.  Over the course of 50 kilometers we climbed from about 6,000 to over 9,000 feet, the wide valley where Huehuetenango is located falling farther and farther below, and the mountain range on the other side of the valley, the Cuchumatanes, poking its ridges through the clouds.  

A side road overlooking the valley

The bus drivers here drive like they're late for their own wedding, but we had a decent shoulder for most of the day, so no problem.

A common sight: political advertisements being painted on the side of the road.  We saw about a million of these red strips with white text promoting the Lider party.

Around 6 pm we reached the top of the climb and descended briefly into a little village.  On the outskirts we asked a guy if we could pitch a tent behind his business, and he said he couldn't give permission because the owner wasn't there but we should go ask at the next house; his sister lives there.  The sister said she also couldn't give permission because her husband wasn't around, but she waved her brother over, he gave the okay, and they (by this time the whole family was outside) showed us a spot to put our tent.  It was odd to us that the word of this woman's brother would supersede hers, as he didn't even live there.  Clearly there's not much gender equality in this area, doubtfully anywhere in rural Guatemala.  

The house was a group of buildings next to the road surrounding a big open-air garage.  The whole family lived there, from the little kids to the oldest great-grandparents.  The kids were painfully shy at first, and the adults not much more open.  They were all descendants of the Quiche Maya (key-CHE), and while we had heard that some indigenous groups shun gringos because they believe that they come to Guatemala to steal children, we were pretty sure that wasn't the case.  They were just shy, not used to people they didn't know.  After we showed some pictures of our families and shared about our lives and our country, they began to open up, even teaching us a few words in their native language.  The older folks didn't speak much Spanish, some none, but we were able to communicate with everyone else.  Good thing, too, because everyone stood around us while we made dinner, a rather awkward state of affairs, but we tried to keep conversation going.

After, the mom of the house, Elamira, invited us to check out her kitchen.  She poured us some small glasses of the tea she was making and brought out the dough for tortillas.  There was already a fire going in the stove.  She deftly slapped some dough into a perfectly round, flat circle, placed it on the stove, then showed us how to do it; it was much harder than it looked!  The corn being planted, sown, reaped, husked, ground, mixed into dough, and now shaped and cooked all by hand right there, made for the most delicious tortillas there could possibly be.  She later gave us a bag to take with us.

The next morning we woke up to frost on the ground.  Elamira's mom, who didn't speak much Spanish (and us no Quiche, obviously), made us some steaming hot plantain tea, which we enjoyed while Elamira made some more tortillas.  Then she introduced us to the family's pigs, wolves (they breed huskies), sheep, and chickens and talked to us about what they use all the animals for.  Not surprisingly, they make many of their own clothes starting from the very beginning: shearing the sheep. 

To give what little thanks we could for this family's generosity, Tam gave them one of her paintings and our contact info.  Hopefully the kids will come visit us someday in the U.S!  For obvious reasons, I didn't want to take out our expensive smartphone, so unfortunately I don't have any photos to post here.

In the next town, I asked a gas station attendant if there was anywhere nearby to buy cheese, fruit, and veggies, and she said she didn't know about fruits or veggies, but (she pointed to a guy walking by), "that guy sells cheese."  I bought two blocks of cheese wrapped in corn husks straight out of a bucket in the trunk of his car, and they were absolutely fantastic.  

We then started our daily climb, this time up to over 10,000 feet, the highest elevation of our trip thus far.  All around were patchworked fields, each separated by a small row of vegetation so that, in the larger areas where the forest had been cleared, the hillsides appeared to be draped in giant quilts.  

Walking frequently on the sides of the road were indigenous men and women carrying what looked to be very heavy loads of wood, usually on their backs with a strap over their forehead.  Sometimes the women were balancing a load on their head with a child in their arms or on their back.  Always they, the women, wear the most beautiful, colorful clothing, undoubtedly all hand-woven.  The men seem to have adopted the easygoing style of jeans and a t-shirt, at least the younger men.  We've seen numerous shops advertising American clothing, so maybe they're just being trendy.

The way up

Up at the top of the pass, the view was incredible: a row of volcanoes, low-hanging clouds shrouding and accentuating the peaks, more quilted hillsides.  We wanted to stay longer, but deforestation and wind meant blowing dust and stinging eyes.  The descent was quick, exhilarating, and, I believe, well-deserved.  

A few hours, some tortillas, and a licuado (blended fruit juice) later, we reached the turnoff to Panajachel.  The road turned super steep downhill; we had to stop numerous times to let our rims cool off and our hands uncramp from squeezing the brakes so tightly.  Never before have I wished so much for disc brakes.  

In Solola we got our first glimpse of Lake Atitlán below, and while the day was hazy and the air thick, the view was still amazing.  I could tell why this is such a famous destination.  A few more hand-cramping minutes later, we entered Panajachel, a touristy town right on the lake.  It took us awhile to find a decent place, but we finally found a relatively cheap, family-run hospedaje, went out and got some groceries, and settled in for the night.  

Our current location:

Northeast side of the lake

To Guatemala! March 7-8

Our last night in Mexico was also one of our best of the entire trip.  After enjoying the day biking, resting, and hanging out with our host family, we had the pleasure of sharing Tam's birthday with a whole bunch of new friends from around town and the cycling club in Las Margaritas, TzejeBike.  We sang songs and ate pizza, Tam took a bite straight out of the cake, and there were even gifts!  On our new cycling shirts, we will from here on out display proudly the TzejeBike name and logo.  Tam also received a beautiful amber bracelet and a dressy shirt.  Later in the evening, Luis brought out a guitar and I played some favorites.  No one knew the songs but us, but Wagon Wheel is catchy in any language!

Many, many thanks to Luis, Mario, Carla, the whole family, and everyone else who joined us for an unforgettable experience in Las Margaritas!

The day's ride took us down into a big valley, and then past Ciudad Cuahtemoc, which is really nothing more than a tiny village, up into the border zone.  

The approach to Guatemala

The Mexican immigration office is in Cuahtemoc, the Guatemalan office four kilometers away across the border in La Mesilla.  "Town" is too nice a word for La Mesilla; it's just shop after shop along both sides of the road selling food, shoes, phones, and just about everything else.  The border itself, the reason for the "town," is less than imposing: it's just an open gate.  People were walking through both ways without so much as a pause, and we joined the crowd and crossed the border.  Confused, and wanting to enter as legally and officially as possible, we sought out the building marked "immigration."  Keep in mind that this building is just one of the hundreds on the side of the road, and that there are no big signs, or even little signs, telling you where you need to go.  You really have to work to enter Guatemala legally at La Mesilla.  Once inside, though, a guy flipped through my passport, scrawled a barely legible "90" to signify that I had 90 days, then asked for 20 pesos (~US$1.40).  It took less than two minutes.  Tam's experience was even easier (they failed to ask her for the 20 pesos), and we figured we must be missing something.  So we went to customs, again voluntarily, and they took one look at our bikes and waved us through.  Okay, then.  We did fail to get an exit stamp from Mexico, but I'm not too concerned about that.

With the arduous border procedures taken care of, we found a hotel there for 50 quetzales (~US$8) and settled in for the night.  Later, two fellow travelers, Danny and Ibrahim, from Mexico and The Netherlands, came to hang out, and we enjoyed talking with them late into the night.

Our next day's ride to Huehuetenango (way-way for short) started with a huge uphill, and it just kept going up following a beautiful river.  Through canyons with steep narrow walls and into the mountain highlands we went, adjusting to Guatemala as we went.  New currency, new dialect, new culinary customs, it was a lot like Mexico but also very different.  

At one point when the canyon was extremely narrow, a motorcycle passed us, and we saw its two riders, late teenage males, again around the next curve, a few hundred feet away, stopped on the side of the road.  There was no one else around and little traffic.  It sounds benign, as we see cars and motorcycles and trucks stopped on the side of the road all the time, but this was different.  Tam and I both had a horrible gut feeling that they were waiting for us.  We stopped and watched as they beckoned to someone we couldn't see around the corner.  Another guy came into view, an older guy with a machete (again not cause for alarm in itself, as everyone has a machete, but still).  We watched some more and tried to look nonchalant; they looked back at us and also tried to look nonchalant.  After a few minutes of this, a pickup truck with about twenty people in the back came along, and we decided to act.  We rode way out in the road so the truck would have to slow and stay behind us.  We biked by the three guys, smiling and saying buenos días, then continued on our way.  We didn't see the guys again, and I hope we were wrong about their intentions.

For the rest of the day, little concrete and wooden huts lined the road on both sides wherever there weren't sheer walls.  Most of the inhabitants of the area are Mam Maya and speak Spanish as a second language, but they all, from the littlest kids up, know the word gringo.  Here's a typical conversation we might have with someone we're biking by:

Us: "Hola, buenas tardes!" (Good afternoon)

Them: "Gringo gringo gringo!"

I kid you not.  It got pretty old after awhile, being judged solely by our skin color.  For all they know, we could be from Latvia.

We arrived exhausted in Huehuetenango, immediately got some of the ubiquitous Guatemalan snack "chocofruta," which is fruit dipped in chocolate, and headed to meet up with Rolando, a guy we had met the night before in La Mesilla.  We enjoyed a typical Guatemalan dinner at his restaurant, the most flavorful and delicious meal I've had in awhile, then got a cheap but comfortable hotel in Huehuetenango.

Marlen and Rolando, good people!

Our location now:

 

From Huehuetenango we're going to head east towards San Cristobal Verapaz and Coban rather than south on the Pan-American Highway towards Lake Atitlán.