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

Change of Plans

Scratch what I said in the last blog post.  We're actually going to take the more-traveled route, highway 1 south towards Quetzaltenango then Lake Atitlán.

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.

9 Months! The Stats

A mural, Mexico's favorite type of painting, depicting the history of the city of Comitan

Kilometers biked: 13,843 (8,306 miles)

Countries traversed: 3

Mexican states traversed: 12

High school classes spoken to: 4

Birthdays celebrated: 2

Tortillas eaten in Mexico: approximately 900, based off of 20 per day, 5 days a week, for the 9 weeks we were in Mexico

Bird species seen: 233

Lonely Planet Mexico's Top 21 completed: 12

Happy Birthday Tam! Chiapas Adventures, March 1-6

The Ruins at Palenque Rising From the Jungle

We left Tuxtla late in the morning, saying goodbye to the guys atTuxtla en Bici, passing by the mouth of the beautiful Cañón del Sumidero where we had spent some good time the day before, and then beginning to climb.  We had heard that there was some uphill, and we found soon that "some uphill" is a big understatement.  It's all uphill for almost 35 miles.

Yeah.... that looks about right.

But, with our aching muscles also came cooler, fresher air and a beautiful view of the valley below.  After awhile the valley floor disappeared in the haze, creating a wonderful floating feeling when we looked down.  

The environment soon changed, too, from shrubs and grasses to pine forest, a welcome change.  On both sides of the road, around the numerous indigenous villages, were steep tracts of land cleared for farmland.  There is no flat land anywhere on this mountain, so the people here make do with what they have.  Were we to go back in time a few hundred years, I bet this area would look very similar to today.  

Max saving his legs for later

Hours later, we were still going up.  Fatigue was setting in as our shadows lengthened, and suddenly we heard a loud pop from Max's bike.  He stopped, looked, and swore in French.  A spoke had broken, and so close to the top!  We could fix it, like the one we had fixed a few days before, but there just wasn't time to remove the cassette, thread in the new spoke, put the cassette back on, and true the wheel.  He would have to hitchhike.  We made plans for later then continued up, still up, forever up through canyons and forest and now-chilly air.  Max passed us a few minutes later, grinning and waving from the back of a speeding pickup truck, and shortly after that we finally saw our destination, San Cristóbal de Las Casas, way down (!) in the next valley.  Flying downhill after an entire day of climbing was like a dream, though by now it was legitimately cold. The mountains, the clouds, the city below, and the sun hitting them all just perfectly with the last rays of the day all came together to form a landscape that I can still see clearly in my mind.

Down in San Cristóbal, dusk setting in, we saw Max beckoning to us from a gas station parking lot.  He was surrounded by motorcycles and men wearing leather, and when we got closer, he introduced us to Abel, a motorcyclist who had invited him, and us by extension, to his house!  Max's bike was non-functional, so we loaded up his stuff on our bikes and he hopped on the motorcycle, bike in hand.

Abel and his family were all very nice, like 99% of the Mexicans we have met, but one of his friends was not so welcoming. In his eyes, anything not Mexican was not good, and anything gringo was worse.  His idea of welcoming us to beautiful and wonderful Mexico (in which we had traveled more than him) was to tell us how everything Mexican is great and how everything American, from the food to the people, is inferior.  It quickly became apparent that he didn't actually know anyone from the United States, and that his viewpoint had been shaped by the news media and by the small community of ex-pats in San Cristóbal.  It was difficult to bite my tongue, but nothing good would have come of rebuttal.  Fortunately Tam was there to elbow me every time I tried to open my mouth.

I was angry at this guy at the time, but now I can't help but empathize with him.  Even though immigration reform was just passed in the U.S. to be more amenable to Mexican-Americans, if all I knew about the U.S. were its immigration policies towards Mexicans, I would dislike it too.  And I can't help but see parallels between his closed-minded ignorance and that of so many people in the U.S.  Of all the people who told us we would get robbed or worse in Mexico, how many had actually been there?  How many actually knew any Mexicans?  Mexico and the U.S. are very different places, yes, and there are definitely places I would not go in either country, but this guy showed me again what I've already learned many times over: that it's irresponsible and wrong to judge an entire country or people based on either the stance of their government or what is reported in the media.

Some late-night tacos made everything better, and we spent the next day getting to know San Cristóbal de las Casas with Max and planning the Guatemala section of our trip.  San Cristóbal is a beautiful town, modern and clean, with a rich indigenous cultural history.  It was one of my favorite cities in Mexico, rivaling Guanajuato.  

San Cristóbal de las Casas 

Photo Credit: www.michaeldemeng.com

The day after, we woke up super early and boarded a "combi," a large van, to see some places a bit off our route.  Bicycling is all about getting to know the places between the places; today we would be going destination to destination.  The bus was hot and cramped, and the roads extremely mountainous with hundreds of potholes and speed bumps.  Fortunately the bus broke down about 20 minutes out of town, and we took the opportunity to stretch our legs and let the nausea subside by hiking up a nearby hill in the cool pine forest.

Too many hours later, we turned onto a side road to the Agua Azul Waterfall.  Just before the entrance was a rudimentary pay station, the gate a rope across the road, with a sign explaining that your 15 pesos would be funding the Zapatista movement.  We knew Chiapas was a hotbed for activism, especially for the Zapatistas, a largely indigenous movement based on land reform that culminated in their 1994 takeover of a few cities.  Then the military moved in, and not much has been heard from them since.  This was the first sign we had seen of their presence.  

We spent an hour at the waterfall enjoying the lacy cascades.  The color of the water reminded us a lot of lakes and rivers in the Canadian Rockies, though the source of the color is different.  

Max, me, and Tam

After Agua Azul we headed to Misol-Ha, another waterfall.  We swam and explored the area; interacting with the place made it mean so much more.

Finally to our final destination: Palenque.  I'm usually not a huge fan of ruins, but Palenque, with its ancient Mayan temples and palaces surrounded by sweaty jungle, was absolutely incredible.  Scaling the pyramids, wandering the passageways, marveling at the jungle vegetation and wildlife, it was all amazing, and I found myself regretting that we hadn't set ourselves up to spend more time at this mysterious and impressive site.

We also enjoyed the company of Dilah, an Indonesian student currently living in the state of Oaxaca to study indigenous methods of making textiles.  She was really interesting to talk with, and I'm sure we'll see her again in Indonesia!

We found ourselves back in San Cristóbal around 10 pm, utterly exhausted but glad we took the time to see these places.

The road from San Cristóbal to the Guatemalan border is roughly 180 kilometers, two days' ride, but we decided to take a short detour to El Chiflon, another huge waterfall.  The ride was almost all downhill, and the waterfall had a legitimate campground attached!  We had a nice nighttime swim.  Unfortunately, that night we also realized that we had left the Spot device, our GPS, at our lunch spot.  I can't express how idiotic and stressed we felt, and I spent the next morning taking all kinds of motorized transportation to try and get it back.  No luck.  Compounding our loss of the Spot was the fact that the replacement phone cord we had bought in San Cristóbal was not working, so we were unable to contact our parents at all. We had no choice but to go to the next city and see what we could find.

The road to Comitan was all uphill and steep, and starting in the middle of the day after my hectic, expensive, and ultimately fruitless morning, was absolute hell.  It must have been 100 degrees.  But we soldiered on, finally reaching the outskirts around 5 pm.  Never had I been so glad to see a shopping mall!  We ran in, found a functional phone charging cord, and let our parents know what was going on.  We also started talking with a really nice family who invited us to their house!  They live in the city of Las Margaritas, and while there was some confusion at first because we thought they wanted to take us out for margaritas, we ended up enjoying a wonderful night of food and family.

Our hosts were Luis, third from the right, and his son Mario, second from left.  They live in a large compound with all of their extended family, and they all mountain bike, from the grandmothers to the little kids.  The next morning, we went on a short ride with them and some friends from the local cycling club.

Tam

Jesus and Daniel, some young friends 

In the afternoon, Luis showed us around the nearby city of Comitan, where he used to work as a school administrator, and we had some great conversations; Las Margaritas, where they live, is the original home of the Zapatista movement.  Today also happens to be March 6, Tam's birthday!  The family made a decadent comida (the largest meal of the day, eaten around 3 pm), and we got a cake to share later!  I think Tam would agree that it has been a wonderful start to her 25th year on earth.