We Leave the City
We gathered up our stuff, bid a heartfelt goodbye to the nuns at the orphanage, and headed south. We'd had enough of the bustling city. Next stop was Puebla. Little did we realize that Puebla was also a huge city. Our plan was to find a place to put up our tent and camp. We didn't have sleeping bags, but we figured Mexico - warm nights - uh, NO. We didn't even have blankets yet. As the temperature began to drop in the high altitude of central Mexico we realized we'd never get to sleep. So we packed up the tent and found some cheap hotel with blankets and beds! In the morning it was off to the train station. We were going to the tropics. Enough of the mountain cold. We bought tickets to Veracruz on the Caribbean coast. Veracruz is one of the oldest cities in Mexico. Just thinking about being there was exciting.
So we were sitting outside in the heart of the city, soaking in the warm sun and loving life when a couple of women about our age approached us. They were being hounded by a some young Mexicans who apparently couldn't resist their Anglo looks. I loved to play travel guide. They had just flown in from Montreal and wanted us to discourage the advances of these guys and to help find a hotel. We went in some really nice one. They spoke French, enough English, but no Spanish and I noticed the hotel clerk was cheating them on the currency exchange. By this time I was pretty good at speaking Spanish, and speaking my mind. I blew up at the guy and called him on his scam. The ladies were grateful and I felt gratified doing my good deed for the day...
We did some swimming, which was one way to wash off the travel dust. Other than a little sightseeing, we didn't do much in Veracruz that sticks in memory. By this time, we were thinking south, south, south. Too much time spent recovering from the rip-off in northern Mexico. So it was two tickets to the Yucatan. Merida, specifically. The train through the jungles in Tabasco state was amazing. It moved slowly and we could stand between cars and grab leaves off the trees as we passed. The air was thick and warm. When the train stopped, vendors would come into the train and sell the fruits and foods they'd prepared. Our tickets were second class, so it was no surprise to see locals carrying chickens with them. The bench seats were not padded, but I wouldn't have traded the color and ambience for first class even if I'd had the money.
Sleeping that night wasn't very comfortable, and I noticed some moaning and strange talking in the back of our car. When I woke up enough to figure out what was going on, I saw some guy sniffing a paper bag. It slowly sunk in that he was sniffing glue. When I decided he was only killing himself, and probably not going to kill us, I fell back to sleep.
Next stop, Merida, capital city of the state of Yucatan. By the way, Mexico has 30-some states and the Federal District (Mexico D.F.) We were in for quite the surprise when we got to Merida. Not a huge surprise, but it changed our plans. It was cloudy, cold, and breezy. We went up a few miles to Progresso, on the Caribbean coast. We expected to be looking out at the blue sea and all we saw was gray. Without hesitation we caught the next bus to Belize (formerly British Honduras), a tiny country on the east coast of the Yucatan peninsula.
Belize
Crossing borders started to become one of the most exciting and unpredictable parts of travel. At Belize's border the guards wore uniforms like British soldiers. So cool. English is the official language here, spoken by Black Caribbean people. I could barely understand them with their thick accents. A guy in front of us at customs had a handgun and lots of cash in his luggage. Very shady.
Belmopan is the small capital. I didn't like it. The little store we went to shop in had a lot of imports from England - juices, canned meats and vegetables. We went out to the beach and camped in a patch of ice plant. Who would guess that I'd be more comfortable in a Spanish speaking country? Juan and I decided to keep moving, and the next morning we caught a ride to the Guatemalan border. Now we were deep in the jungle again. There is a small river separating the two countries, and a lot of animosity. Guatemala still considers Belize as part of Guatemala, and shows it as such on its maps. The Guatemalan guards greet you with submachine guns. I was oblivious to the fact that rural Guatemala is haven to lots of guerillas and anti-government rebels.
Finally, Guatemala
It'll be tough to get the feeling across that we felt crossing the bridge. Below, women washed their clothes on the rocks. Mayan descendents in colorful dress. Dirt road with horses and chickens and pigs running around. Open building with grass roof. Inside we sat down for a meal. Totally relaxed atmosphere with a big table and benches. No menu. They just brought a large pot of vegetable stew and some thick corn tortillas. It tasted great. I was pretty much in love with Guatemala from this moment. It's hard for me to believe when I look at a map now that the Mayan capital of Tikal was only 20 miles or so from the eastern border. We may have taken a bus first, but soon we were on foot. In this remote area locals and anyone else traveling hitches a ride with any truck or vehicle that passes. If they have any room they stop, negotiate a fee and take you as far as you're going, or they're going. Our ride was in the back of some little pickup with a canopy shell. We shared the bumpy ride with about 4 natives, one of whom had a dog. It was hot, dusty and uncomfortable. Made much worse by the pitiful dog who got sick back there... Our ride took us to a crossroads by late afternoon. The sky started to cloud over. Really cloud over. By chance there was a building being built, so we hustled inside just before the storm hit. Juan carried a little Instamatic camera, and these pictures below are from that afternoon. The rainbow shot is from inside our shelter and doesn't really convey the intensity of the rainfall:
As we were hiking the trail into Tikal we ran into a guy and two women. He was from Spain, one woman was French and the other was Guatemalan. A very handsome guy and beautiful companions. We sat for a while and talked. I loved hearing Castilian spoken. He looked like a typical European or Californian, for that matter. He called Juan and me "maestro", his slang for guys like us. He pulled out a flute and played for us, and I think he used it to mesmerize the two women. Seemed to work. OK, listen, I was jealous, but I promise I've gotten over it! We hung out for a while, and at one point some native Guatemalan came by and joined our conversation. The native complimented the Spaniard on his excellent Spanish, thinking I guess, that he was an American like us. The Spaniard made it very clear that his native tongue was the original Spanish. La de da... Next stop, Tikal.