Day 46 - San Ignacio (New Years Eve)

So let me tell you a few differences between Belize and the rest of Central America. English is the first language. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed speaking my native tongue. It just makes me happy to communicate without waving my arms in the air and saying ‘bueno’ all the time. I like the beauty of language and not being able to employ it makes me a little sad and a lot frustrated. I also love the way Belizeans speak. It’s very Caribbean Creole. It is Fun-da-Mentaleee attractive to the ear and a Dee-lishusss treat that needs little thought to tune into. So there’s that. Secondly, if you’re in a bar in Belize and order a beer, they bring you a beer, like, straight away. No messing. I mean, that’s what you want right? Not a 20 minute delay and shrug of Latino shoulder when it arrives. You order beer, you get beer. Fantastic. They also do beers in buckets as standard. It's an efficiency thing. Why make 7 trips to a customers table when you can just shove 7 beers in a bucket with some ice and let the poor old chap get pickled at his own pace without interruption? 
Being on the Caribbean coast, you'd expect Belizeans to be laid back, right? Well they are indeed so laid back they have the tarmac burns on their spines to prove it. It must have at least something to do with all the weed. I’ve not indulged on this trip. I’ve not felt like it. And my previous very limited exposure to it gave me no burning desire to go back for more. But I’ve been around the sweet aroma of the stuff since my passport was stamped in the immigration office and it seems to keep everyone in a self-induced state of benign happiness. I wonder if Aldous Huxley wrote Brave New World while on a trip to Belize? It certainly has the feel of a Soma fuelled society in many ways.  

I fear in my last post I painted Belize as a 3rd world shit pot. Let me just give you an example that redresses the balance. Last night I had a T-bone steak with salad and fries with a glass of Merlot for about £18. And for breakfast I had the most wonderful eggs benedict with two cups of Earl Grey to wash it down. If Belize IS the 3rd world, then the 3rd world isn’t a terrible place to be. 

Day 45- San Ignacio

Well today was one of those days that make all the travelling worthwhile. I had a very lovely trip out doing jungle off-roading followed by a 3km canoe in a cave. I'm not sure what else to say about it than that really, it's all a bit self-explanatory. Maybe I should say a few words about where I am for context.
I've been to Belize twice before, and spoken about Belize geography, history, etc. in another blog, so won't repeat everything I said in that, but this is a new part of Belize for me. Belize is a country the size of Wales but with the population of Brighton & Hove thereabouts. It is very sparsely populated country. It is so sparsely populated in fact, the bean counters of fast food America can't make the numbers work for a single MacDonalds, KFC, or Subway. The last two both tried to make a go of a store each in Belize City some while back and didn't have the custom to make them work. Good. I'm happy they failed. Belize doesn't need them. There are only about 6 towns in the entire country of any note, and I've visited the other 5 on previous trips. I'm now in the town I haven't visited before, San Ignacio. It's in the far west of the country, just next door to Guatemala, and in one of the most densely jungled (not a word but work with me here) parts of the country. It's a steamy little corner of a small tropical nation little visited except by the more intrepid backpacker.
I fell in love with Belize some 13 years ago on my first visit here. Formerly known as British Honduras, Belize had the good sense to keep a parliamentary democracy, Commonwealth membership, and English as its first language after gaining independence in 1981. When I first came here it was a 3rd world country by any sensible criteria, and it really hasn't changed that much, but there is some modernity that shows sign of progress. The internet has arrived for a start. They have a couple of banks, and one or two of the cars don't have cracked windscreens.
If all of this sounds a bit primitive, well it isn't. We really don't need a MacDonalds on every street corner do we? And anyway, Belize has street food vendors on every street corner, so they're covered. Now the banks and the internet is here, and the electricity supply is reliable, life is as modern as it needs to be. They have nail bars/beauty parlour aplenty, grocery stores, schools, it's all here! Add to that the natural beauty of the country and you get an idea of why I've come back again.
That and all, nowhere is perfect. I mean, they really could've built a few more roads by now. ...or indeed, built some roads.
....Anyway, I'm rambling. I'll come back to Belize again later I'm sure. For now, here are some pics of a cave and a 4x4 ride.

Still in civilisation and on one of the few pieces of tarmac to be found round these here parts.

 In the jungle. Less a road, more a dried up mud slide.

And we're off into the cave! I was given a boat to myself and I was the youngest and clearly most capable.

A cave. Where lots of Mayan sacrifices took place. They did love a good cave sacrifice the Mayans.

Day 44 - San Ignacio

I'm a wee bit tired and not sure I have the energy required to detail all of yesterday, but here are the highlights;
Early rise to catch a bus to Tikal. This is an east thing to do. There must be 400,000 booths selling this tour on Flores and you just pay your money and turn up the following morning ticket in hand. The problem is/was that I didn't want to come back. Tikal is approximately half way to Belize from Flores, and that's where I wanted to go. Needless to say, the booths also ell tickets to go to Belie, but that's only from Flores. So you can do A-B-A, or you can do A-C, but no-one does A-B-C. So I negotiated a ticket price reduction to just do A-B. Fine. That left me with the problem of navigating nearly 100km of B-C on my own. Still with me? Great.

Tikal is absolutely stunning and I really can't do it justice here. It's a vast ancient Mayan city in a vast National Park - and for the purposes of this post one should note it's about 20km from the nearest small village.
So I got dropped off with all my belongings in Tikal and had a nice little sweaty sticky wander. After I'd seen all I wanted to see (and if you get the chance, I really recommend you go, it really is one of those places that lives up to the hype) I started to try and figure out a way to Belize. I began by asking any minibus driver I could find if they were heading on my direction and if they had a spare seat. No joy. On the verge of waving a large wad of dollars in the air at any passer by, I spotted a chicken bus pulling up. On the off chance, I mimed and pointed and it appeared he was going back to a junction 30km away that led to Belize. I hopped on, an hour later hopped off, and started to hitch. I walked for probably 6-7 km in the direction of the border still some 50km away. I ended up in the back of a pick-up truck (the ubiquitous Toyota Hilux) speeding across a dusty track through the jungle and finished up in a town some way short of the frontier. I managed to flag down a minivan known as a 'Collective', basically a cheap locals hopper bus, which got me to the where I wanted to go. Once through the border, it was a 16km taxi ride to San Ignacio and my hostel for the next few nights. ...and relax.

P.S. This is how welcoming Belizeans are; my taxi guy and I got chatting and he asked me if I had a wife. When I said I didn't, he immediately and enthusiastically gave me the full run down of where to go and what to pay for the best prostitutes in town so I wouldn't get ripped off. Now that's hospitality.

P.P.S. US$25, Joseph Andrew Drive ...for anyone wondering.

Tikal. Really really stunning jungly city

They could do with putting a high pressure hose over some of the stonework, but it's a poor country, so well, you know.

Belize is such a lovely place, everyone wants to get in. It took me 90 minutes - and I'm a Commonwealth member for christ's sake!

This is Caesar. Caesar was very drunk, and/or very stoned, and absolutely refused to leave me alone over dinner. In the end, I had to resort to paying him Belize$1 to 'fuck off and buy yourself a beer somewhere else'

After a day of winging it, there really was only one menu item I could order. ..I fucking love Belize

Day 43 - Flores

Just for a change I’m going to put a bit of flavour around the place I’m staying. Flores is a small island settlement on the southern edge of a lake a don’t know the name of because I’m writing this without the benefit of WiFi. Anyway, it’s connected to the shore via a causeway and a very pretty village it is too. It’s mainland big brother, Santa Elena, is where you get stuff, it’s larger, more 'working town' Guatemala, and frankly grubbier. Flores you can explore every detail of it’s narrow lanes, tiny alleyways and shoreline promenade in about an hour and is where one stays if one is a backpacker. And it’s ALL about the backpackers here. Despite the surprising presence of a swanky Ramada hotel, you’ve got to really want to come here, or have to come here, to be here and stay in one of the many island hostels. There are only three types of businesses in Flores, bars, tourist booths selling bus tickets to Tikal, and hotels. 

For the first time in this particular blog, and maybe the last, I’ll do a review of my current accommodation;

Availability 5 Tacos - head and shoulders more available than the other 13 hotels I tried. 

WiFi 3 Tacos - a very creditable effort given this is the fucking Guatemalan jungle and a dirt cheap hostel to boot. 

Outlook 1/4 Tacos - my room looks out on a rusty corrugated roofing sheet / the hostel is 20m from the gently lapping shore of the quite delightful Lake Whateveritis. 

Price 4 Tacos - and frankly I’m doing the place down. Even in these parts, £10p.n. really is very cheap living. 

Wildlife 4 Tacos - I looked but couldn’t find any sign of cockroaches, bedbugs, silverfish, or indeed cougars for that matter (I looked for those, twice, and their absence accounts for the markdown)

Comfort 3 Tacos - ok, so it isn’t a Hilton DoubleTree but the shower, astonishingly, was hot, the bed was clearly around when the Mayans ruled the place but I seemed to sleep well nonetheless, there wasn’t any aircon but a rickety ceiling fan did a better job than you’d imagine. 

I mean, for the money, I was quite surprised. I’ve certainly stayed in worse, and paid more for the privilege. 

I get why Flores is here and why people make the effort to get here. It is genuinely an oasis in the desert. ...well, jungle. It’s sooo laid back and non-threatening, geared towards budget travel, and a really nice beatnik spot. I’ve enjoyed Guatemala very much and no more so than the short time I’ve spent in Flores. My only real recommendation to those who come after me is to book ahead like I didn’t. 

Crossing the causeway into Flores. Note the Ramada is the largest building on the island by a country mile and offers a first glance that suggests a touch of island grandeur. At second glance, one tends to reappraise. Doesn't stop it being pretty though. 

I'm sure there are those who would suggest I took this to infer I am no longer short of company. As it happens, I was the perfect gentleman and just took loads of secret photos of them without interrupting their evening in the slightest. Who said chivalry was dead eh?  

Day 42 - Flores

I'm going to say right up front, I couldn't find it within myself to be amusing today. Some may claim that to be situation normal, but I do try to keep the text light where possible. In this case, this is more of a traditional, informative, blog entry. I think I need to be sent to bed early, possibly without pudding, and not try and talk to anyone until I've had a good hard look at my tired behaviour. 

As much as I enjoyed my business class bus experience, after 4500 miles, I’m beginning to get to the end of my bus tether. Arriving bleary eyed in a strange town and having your pack thrown at you by a willing but somewhat task focused scabby local does little to improve a somewhat fragile patience. 

After walking aimlessly around the jungle town of Flores for a bit, I decided I’d muster one last faint smile and find a place to collapse, possibly permanently. An hour and 13 fully booked hotels later, I finally found a place with a room and at £10p.n. You may be able to imagine the standard. There is actually one decent hotel in town, a Ramada would you believe, but they were fully booked - it was the first place I tried. Still, I was beginning to think I’d not find anywhere at all, so I shouldn’t complain about my little hovel for a couple of nights.  Besides, there’s a little American cafe around the corner that does a decent breakfast and a surprisingly good cup of tea.

Flores is pretty much in the middle of jungle nowhere. It’s hot, sticky, isolated, and a bumpy 400km from where I began my bus trip. I’m here for two reasons. Firstly because it’s one of the few gateways to Belize, my final destination. Although there is a massive border between Guatemala and Belize, it’s mostly impenetrable jungle and I have learnt that it’s generally easier to cross borders with all your paperwork intact. Secondly, and the real reason why Flores is on the tourist trail is its proximity to Tikal. I’ll come back to Tikal separately, but in short it’s the granddaddy of all ancient ruins in the America’s, bar none. Chichin Itza gets all the headlines because it is close to Cancun, but it pales by comparison to Tikal - apparently - well hopefully we’ll see, won’t we!

Guatemala City bus station. Stab proof armour for the vulnerable citizen on a budget. 

Guatemala City cops on scrambler bikes. They appeared in periodically x2 per bike and x6 bikes at a time, machine pistols held aloft. I guess it's a pretty effective fast response unit for a cash strapped service. They looked very menacing to me anyway.

Very nice throwy stick Flores fisherman who would've received more of my sparkling wit had I not been tired and grumpy. ...As he was armed, I decided he wasn't the ideal candidate for my ire.

I disagree with sweet waffles on a savoury breakfast on a fundamental level. That said, I decided to forgive the sin of of maple syrup and sausages on the same plate because the sugar rush had a much needed calming effect on me. ...It's still wrong though. Let's just be clear about that.

Day 41 - Lake Atitlan

Boxing Day and time to leave one lake for another. I booked on to a luxury bus in the equivalent of Business Class at great expense for the overnight journey to Flores in Northern Guatemala via a short stop in Guatemala City. All that being so, there's not a great deal of touristy stuff to talk about. Instead, I thought I'd share my vast wisdom on the nuanced differences between one layabout backpacker and another....

So I should say that Central America is the natural habitat of your more serious backpacker. Asia and Australasia is more of a cheeky gap year for the middle class teenager who just doesn't really fancy doing anything except drugs and girls for 12 months. 

I know that’s a bit broad brush, but in my experience, largely true. So what does all that mean? Well the average age of your Central American backpacker is a lot higher for a start. 20’s and some 30’s (I’m always going to be an outlier at my grand old age). Also the equipment and dress code is a bit different. Backpacks are a bit more battered and a bit more tied up with string. None of your fresh out of Blacks, North Face premium bacpackery here. Carrier bags play a much important role here too. It’s what you carry water bottles and fruit in. I haven’t seen a camelback since I was in Hanoi I think.

I have been mercilessly ribbed for wearing vests on social media, but they are fairly common hot weather garb in truth. That said, I eschew the serious backpackers pantaloons, alpaca poncho, beads, braids and a woven hat of some variety. You get that look anywhere backpackers roam of course, but in Central America, it tends to be more multi-layered, far grubbier and threadbare, and as an ensemble, takes on a kind of 1000 yard stare feral bag lady look, as opposed to an Asian hippy dippy, vegan, prawns is murder, save the orangoutangs, kind of way.  

It’s kinda like the difference between being in the army and being in the SAS. Central America is the SAS by the way. And I’m in neither camp for the record. I plough my own furrow. ....Hey! Maybe I’m Delta Force? ....Or maybe Dad’s Army. You decide. 

It’s difficult to take photos of fellow travellers without them noticing and asking you what the fuck you’re doing, but I did manage to take this cheeky shot to prove I’m not the only person with my shoulders out in these parts. 

Day 40 - Lake Atitlan (Christmas Day)

I'm going to do a very short post as everyone that normally reads this has got far better things to do today.
Does Guatemala celebrate Christmas? You bet your sweet eggnog they do! Well it kinda does and kinda doesn't. It makes a fairly feeble effort on the whole, and I think a lot of it is for tourists to be fair. What I CAN tell you is, everyone has the day off. I know this, because I couldn't buy a bottle of water, any food, and most distressingly of all tea from my favourite tea shop. Actually, that's not entirely true, I did find a place open to buy a bag of crisps and some water, but the whole tea thing rather ruined Christmas I won't deny it.
Christmas Eve did end up in a very lengthy and spectacular fireworks display (it lasted from midnight until approx. 2m) but sadly because I am never awake at midnight, all I managed to experience was the audio version, until I put some earplugs in, and then I managed to miss the extravaganza almost entirely.

Christmas Eve on Lake Atitlan. Quite quite lovely.

Sadly they didn't have any bottoms in my size.

I can't say for sure, but stores have been laying carpets on this stuff since I arrived and it may have some festive significance. ...Just thought I'd mention it.

Not much call for sleighs in Guatemala, so naturally, Santa has to hitch a ride. It was quite nice actually. The many many destitute small children were thrown lots of candy and it's probably one of the few occasions where they don't have to go and beg for a small handout all year.

Day 38 - Lake Atitlan

Guatemalans are it is fair to say, a diminutive people. I’m a clear foot taller than the tallest Guatemalan I’ve seen and most of the women are four foot nothing in heels. Quite honestly I feel a bit like Gulliver. 

It does give one a bit of confidence should a riot erupt, but one also has to have a care not to intimidate and a friendly smile I find goes a long way. The very moment I learn how to smile without it looking like a creepy lopsided grimace, I’ll be sure to employ one. 

Also, there’s no menace in these people as far as I’ve seen. God knows how they got a reputation for being a bit dodgy and all this civil war business seems terribly unlikely to me. They’re all far too busy finding a pot to piss in to be feisty. And given how poor they are, they do seem almost unreasonably cheerful. Good for them I say. I’ve got a couple of coppers to my name and I’m miserable 90% of the time. There’s a lesson in there somewhere you know. 

So I’ve gotta tell you, the TransferWise Borderless Debit card is an absolute marvel. No longer do I have to swallow condoms stuffed full of US Dollars and remember where I’ve hidden my arse tweezers, no longer do I have to remove a filling to retrieve my emergency $20 so I can phone my mum to come and get me, all I have to do is make sure I keep my TransferWise Mastercard clenched firmly in my butt cheeks at all times, and I have a safe and secure, if sweaty, method of paying for my hotel rooms and meals out whatever the currency. 

Today has been mostly getting familiar with Lake Atitlan and its people and its rock bars, and I've learned that time marches on even in these parts. When I was last in the region four years ago, I was indoctrinated and joined the fist bump fraternity. These days, the standard greeting has evolved. Now everyone kinda slides palm against palm and finishes with a bump to seal the deal. It is ubiquitous regardless of age or circumstance, and if you don't play along, you just get involved in an embarrassing game of rock, paper, scissors, and feel like you have to give an extra large tip to make up for your poor form. I've started playing along. 

They're a tiny tiny folk but with an enormous capacity for improving their stature with the addition of a hat full of useless nik-naks. 

Can you believe I found tea? ..AND a slightly stale chocolatine. Not exactly PG Tips, but a genuine herbal infusion nonetheless.

Let - Us - Rock. ...And don't forget to dress appropriately.

Day 37 - Lake Atitlan

Well I've arrived in my new home and this will have to do me for Christmas. It isn't plush, but it is terribly affordable, well located, and it has hot water and WiFi. I'm in a town called Panajachel on the edge of Lake Atitlan and it's a cracker. I already really like it and I've only been here a day. Yes it's on the tourist trail, but the best hotel in town is a dodgy 3 star and where I am is probably a 1 star thereabouts, but it is fine for me. The rest of the town is genuine Guatemala, and all the better for it. I think this place reminds me of somewhere like Mandalay, or Ometepe or somewhere like that. It's an honest town with no pretensions and has an 'if you don't like it then you can sod off' feel about it. On that basis alone, I rather like it.

The bus dropped me in the main street which has a hatful of bars and restaurants, right outside a rock bar and naturally the first thing I did was step inside to check it out. Bloody marvellous. Soft Rock plus beer, plus wings, plus fries, and all a mere 100m from my hotel - I think someone is looking after me upstairs and gave me my Christmas present early.
I've always been a bit down on Guatemala. It's to do with them wanting to have Belize for their own. And lovely Belize is both an ex-colony and a member of the Commonwealth, so they bloody well can't have it, no sir-ee Bob. The last time they tried, a couple of RAF Harrier jump jets flew around in circles for an hour or so near Guatemalan airspace and they decided to stop trying. But I'm being unfair, all that was quite a long time ago now and they seem to have been more pleasant neighbours of late. So I've buried my own prejudices and have discovered that Guatemalans do enjoy a bit of rock. I was bracketed by two very enthusiastic husbands as I sat at the bar last night. Their wives seemed less wildly excited by men with perms and spandex pants than their spouses, but we're all different of course. It turned into a raucous singalong and I felt as though I ought to move so the two fellas could embrace and wave lighters in the air together, but I sat my ground and watched my plate of wings bounce up and down on the bar to the rhythm of lusty blokes banging palms on wood in time to some very catchy choruses.

A fairly typical dusty Guatemalan road. ...Not for the fainthearted.

Lake Atitlan and two of its numerous volcanos. It's really very pretty!

Me. ...And some unexpectedly enthusiastic Latino rock fans (the man in the cap had just been informed by his wife that he was paying a little too much attention to Twisted Sister, and not quite enough attention to his not half bad looking missus. So he had a minute or two of sulking before going back to rocking out). 

Day 36 - San Christobal

I was going to do a bit of a wrap up on Mexico but today got a bit involved, so I’ll leave my Mexican review for another post. 

I booked onto a minibus that backpackers use. San Cristóbal to Panajachel is a well worn route, so local bright sparks set up a bus route to manage the never ending stream of grubby layabouts traveling to and from. So for £16 you get to sit on a child’s seat for 9 hours and 300 or so kilometres. 

The driver picked me up from the hotel a stressful 45 minutes after he promised to be there and asked if I had the correct paperwork to get through border control. I said, ‘oh I don’t need any paperwork, I’m British, we have an agreement with Mexico and Guatemala about that sort of thing’. He said, ‘no, not a visa, your exit tax receipt, and Mexico entry stamp in your passport’. ‘No’. 

Now here’s the thing. When I entered Mexico from McAllen, it was so straightforward as to be regarded as bizarre. The bus stopped at the border, we all got out, put bags through an X-Ray, got back on the bus and off we went. No passport control, customs, stamps, forms, or anything like that. I basically just sauntered on in. It did strike me as a very casual approach to border control at the time I must admit and even now I can’t explain the Mexican lack of attention to detail. And when I say detail, I mean any form of control or interest whatsoever. 

So I had to confess to the bus driver I didn’t know what he was talking about. He then put his head in his hands, shook it a lot and keep talking about everything being a big problem. 

Anyway, I had a relaxing three hour bus ride to consider all the possible outcomes of me not having a passport stamp. Not having an exit tax receipt seemed like something I could buy my way out of and took second place to figuring out the likely location of the nearest British Consulate and its likely proximity to the nearest Mexican jail. 

I actually spend quite a great deal of time memorising the first page of the British passport, and took particular care over the bit about ‘in the name of her majesty’ (which always sounds very dramatic) ‘allow the bearer to pass freely and without let, or hinderance’. 

Anyway, I wasn’t allowed to pass freely at all, and nor was I given an easy ride, with everything being searched, twice, ...although we did manage to agree a full body search would be taking things beyond reasonable. I had to pay $12 for my exit tax and a bribe of $30 from a man with a gun who didn’t know who Queen Elizabeth is to get an exit stamp in my passport. 

The border was quite a scrum even by the standards of the region, and Guatemala lovely, but mad, and very 3rd world. The difference between the relatively affluent Mexico is immediately obvious. I’ve got a feeling I might quite like it! 

The walk to the border through the makeshift bazaar was not wholly unexpected, but an ounce more crazy than average for the region I'd say. 

Formalities were in fact fairly informal. A large breasted lady swiped my passport and said welcome to Guatemala - or something like that at least. I still can't speak a word of Spanish, so it could have been directions to the loos, I really couldn't say.

That's my £1100 MacBook being tied to the roof of a Minibus with some fatigued garden twine. That I'm able to post this blog entry at all is a miracle.

Day 35 - San Christobal

Right, I've completely lost track of where I was. I think I said I was getting on a bus. I did, and arrived at 1am in San Christobal. Because of my delay, I only have one and a half nights, and one day to see the place. It's a shame, because it looks to be a gorgeous wee colonial town with narrow streets, a bit of a hippy vibe, and some cutesy shops and tat stalls. Anyway, I traipsed around for as long as I could and found found a seat on a shuttle bus that will, hopefully, take me in to Guatemala in the morning. 

Despite the lack of time, I walked past a sign that really couldn’t be ignored. 90 minutes later I walked out of my first ever chocolate massage. Yes yes, I know, chocolate massage sounds a bit dodgy, and the more you think about it, the dodgier it sounds. As it happens, it’s really interesting. Imagine going for a swim in Willy Wonka’s choccy river, and then hand towel dry. It’s a bit like that anyway. You don't actually swim in the stuff, but it is kinda poured, warm, and then well... rubbed in. It's quite nice! I’d describe the massage itself as somewhere between firm and bullying, and cleaning off process, about as long as the massage itself. And let’s face it, you’re never going to towel off a body’s worth of chocolate, and she must've used 25-30 towels in the attempt, so I walked around for the rest of the day smelling like a bar of Bournville. Would I recommend it? Yeah! Why not? I now have an appreciation of what it must feel like to have done a tough mudder with the added benefit of not having to do a tough mudder. Plus I smell delicious. If I had the time I’d go back and give the honey one a go.  

I thought I might end up with a chocawockydoodah, but it wasn't that kind of a place. 

A seemingly nice town that my photography isn't able to do justice to, but I have to get my clips on and leave all too soon!

It's a jungle out there - actually, this is my spectacularly excellent £25p.n. hotel garden

Day 34 - Pochutla

The bus was running, but no seats available, so I had to find a place to doss in Pochutla for the night.

I think I’ve spoken about this before in another blog, but traveling alone has its pluses and minuses. The minuses are pretty obvious, loneliness, isolation, having to do literally everything yourself, from planning and logistics to security and negotiations, the list goes on but you get the idea. The pluses are I guess also obvious really, setting your own schedule, seeing what you want to see, eating where you want to eat, engaging with others as and when you choose, and the only rows you really have are on Messenger and therefore restricted to verbals rather than actual punching. One of the greatest pleasures is watching other people get on with their lives. I don’t mean studying through a long lens in a creepy way, just casual observation of normal folk doing normal stuff. A family having a special celebratory dinner for example. The world over this almost always includes one bored teenager repeatedly bouncing an empty water bottle on the head of his aged grandmother until his mother realises and smacks him while shouting some foreign obscenity. 

Boys talk about girls, girls talk about boys, and because it is 2018, some boys talk about boys and some girls... well you get the idea. It’s all just human beings being very human. Colour, creed and language seem to make no real difference wherever you go. I personally find it totally comforting that we are all fundamentally the same, and a little saddening that we still search to find enough differences to not get along. Wars eh? Bummer. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about any of that and can just relax while watching senile grandmothers and spotty youths administering and being administered a sound casual beating. 

Can I be honest? As much as I love Central American cuisine, right now, I’d exchange my left nut for a fucking pizza or something. 

Cute chunky young things chatting about whatever cute chunky young things chat about. Boys, tampons, rainbows, unicorns? How the fuck would I know? They’re girls and therefore an unfathomable mystery to me. 

I love this scene. It is so obviously a nervous first date in the best place he can afford (we’re all in a slummy drug den) she’s in her fiesta finery, and he’s just finished telling her how he’s saved nearly enough money to buy his taxi outright and within 2 to 3 years will be able to afford an American style fridge/freezer. ..I know that makes me sound like a massive arrogant prick, but I’m a massive arrogant romantic prick. I sat smiling at them both for a good hour. 

Day 33 - Puerto Angel

Just for once I’ve set myself a schedule. With Christmas coming up, I’ve had the concern of finding somewhere to stay so that I don’t find myself kissing a streetdog under the mistletoe. So I’ve booked into a place on Lake Atilan in Guatemala. I imagine I’ll come back to Lake Atilan in future posts, but in short it’s a lake, in Guatemala, and THE unmissable destination if you happen to find yourself in, well, Guatemala. Point being, I need to move from where I am, by bus, and end up in Lake Atilan by 21st December. You see? A schedule. Not that I’m averse to working according to a schedule, in fact, I’d say it’s my thing. But these trips are more about NOT working to a schedule and avoiding all the stress that entails. Plus, working to a schedule in Central America is just asking for trouble. Expecting a bus to depart and arrive within a day of the advertised programme can only lead to disappointment and frustration. Anyway, it’s done now, and even if I have to hitch a ride on the back of a pig carrying pickup, I’ll need to get my shiny white arse across the Guatemalan border in time for Christmas. 

What I am going to attempt to do, is get a bus at 8pm this evening and arrive at San Christobal de Las Casas at about 7am tomorrow morning. I have my fingers crossed the bus is running, and that there is a ticket available for me. I've then got the whole overnight ride thing which really doesn't hold much appeal, but it is better than the alternative, which is to arrive at 1am and bum around in the dark until a cafe opens sometime around 10am. There's no reason why any of the above shouldn't happen just fine, it's just that there are lots of bits that could go wonky and then we're into crisis management mode, which is also kinda fine, but it will no doubt be uncomfortable. Anyway, these are the sort of things one has to try and figure out when on a travelling holiday ....for anyone that doesn't do this kind of thing.

I don't have any new and interesting pics to share, so instead, here is how I try and get around the place without the benefit of wi-fi

Ideally, download google maps of the area so you can use it offline - but that isn't always doable or reliable, so just in case, screenshot general area so you can understand the street network and general area where the hotels are. It isn't elegant, but it sends you in the right direction and it works for me. ...I also have another offline app which is excellent for navigating, but not as comprehensive as the mighty Google.  

Day 32 - Puerto Angel

I don’t have long nails, not my thing. But I’ve had to clip them back this week as I’ve been bitten by so many sand flies and other bugs while traveling, my skin has developed the texture of a WWI battlefield. If anyone can rush knit a pair of scratch mittens to me, I, and the maid that changes my blood soaked sheets in the morning, would be most grateful.

I’ve also been going totally balls out with my dining choices of late, not without occasional regret I might add. I cried at the dinner table last night, profusely and unashamedly. The guy on the next table over was flopping great big spoonfuls of this red romanesco-esque sauce all over his plate and I boldly mimicked him when my own plate arrived. It was fucking volcanic! Part hunger and part good old British stoicism demanded I gamely tackle my foodie inferno through eyes squirting tears like a hand pumped fire hose onto my dinner, and a nose streaming drizzly strings of watery snot into my gaping, huffing mouth while I reassured a deeply concerned waiter I was enjoying the repast enormously. ..It was carnage in the morning. …It felt like my colon had been microwaved for five and a half minutes on High. 

Despite the occasional medical emergency, I’ve adopted a very ‘yes please’ attitude to everything this trip. After all, I doubt I’ll be back this way anytime soon, if ever again, so if I don’t try stuff now, I never will. Central America tends to bring that out in you and I remember having the same feeling the last time I was here - although I did rather take the philosophy to the limit last time around four years ago, and am glad to say I’m now a grown up and have a much more measured approach. Except when drunk, in which case I will leap at almost literally anything enthusiastically as long as it is funny and/or stupid. 

I'm leaving here tomorrow evening and hope to catch an overnight bus - which I'm absolutely dreading - but there's no other way unfortunately, so the next post might be late or disappear entirely. 

 Once again, I think these pics rather speak for themselves.

Day 31 - Puerto Angel

Right, so I've been here a couple of days and it's about time I wrote something. So, Puerto Angel is a small sandy cove with two beaches, one private, one public. Them's the highlights. It's not much of a metropolis, but everything a tourist would want, some bars/restaurants, a couple of C-stores, two hairdressers, a butchers, a bakers, and that's about it. I feel like I've missed something, no, I'm pretty sure that's it. I'm in the private bit, which is also pretty much public if you walk on to the beach and sit down so I'm not really sure what the big private/public deal is, but I think it has something to do with you being expected to buy drink or food from the private bit - which I would and do anyway. Oh this is getting confusing. ....I'm in a really nice cove, in a fairly nice hotel, the sun has been shining and if not all, then at least most is right with the world. 

This stop happens to mark the half way point in my journey chronologically. I booked in to stay here for 4 nights, and am taking the chance to just bum around a bit and catch up on some personal admin etc. so I don't have any particularly funny stories to share, tales of slips, trips or rip-offs, I'm just having a nice time on holiday right now. So this entry and perhaps the next couple of entries might be a bit thin.  

Everywhere I’ve stayed or eaten so far has made a point of opening bottles right in front of my face. I imagine I don’t need to explain the significance of that to anyone, but it’s a nice touch in a country that has a very poor, and in my experience at least, unfounded reputation for unofficial recycling. ...I've not been date raped yet at any rate.

I don't think these pics warrant a great deal of explanation, but it's a very cute place and I'm glad I went a bit out of my way to find this part of Mexico.

Next time I go to the beach, I’m leaving my Blu-Tak in the room. Sand and Blu-Tak are natural enemies. 

Day 29 - Pochutla

I'm writing this from my hotel room in Puerto Angel, on the Mexican Pacific coast. I've been on the road for quite a while now and only got in a couple of hours ago, but I already feel like I'm going to stay here for a bit because it really is quite nice.  

Since leaving Oaxaca, I've been on a bus that took me in completely the wrong direction for 7 hours, then took a right, and another 4 hours to get to where I wanted to be. Even now, I couldn't say for sure if the driver was just styling out a horrible map reading error, or if the route was that intended. I did know it was going to be a long trip though, and my drop off point was just a few kilometres from the surf, so I spent the night in what is essentially a bus station town, San Pedro Pochutla.

I got really quite anxious about arriving in Pochutla and I don’t know why. Normally the prospect of getting off a bus and looking for some kind of accommodation doesn’t really register as something to worry unduly about. Maybe it was because it was getting late (I generally try not to arrive somewhere in the dark) maybe it’s because I knew hotels would be thin on the ground, or maybe I just got a bit of a ‘banditry’ feel about the town. It reminded me about arriving in Georgia a few years ago, and maybe that gung-ho and reckless experience got dragged a bit front of mind. Anyway, I found a cheap place with a bed in fairly short order as things turned out. 

This morning I got up, looked at the map, and with time to kill, decided to walk the 10km from Pochutla to my hotel in Puerta Angel. This was definitely one of my stupidest decisions, possibly ever. Having done 10km a couple of days ago, it didn't seem like a big deal, but this time I was fully loaded with 25kg pack, 3 bottles of water plus day pack, blazing hot sun, no pavements to walk on, and the disability of creeping old age to slow things down even further. Additionally, my shoulders started producing massive bubble blisters from the sun which quickly burst and kind of oozed down my front making everything a bit icky. Finally, the road was being upgraded and the edges were full of displaced shale, which for the pedestrian had an effect like dancing on a billion imperfect marbles. After a dozen or so close shaves, the inevitable happened and I went down like the Belgrano. A nice chap stopped to see if the old boy wanted any help getting up, but I stiffened my upper lip and declared it was only a scratch and I was perfectly fine. I wasn't, but I'm British, so I said I was. By the time I arrived at my hotel, I was pretty much crawling on hands and knees, and very grateful for the very nice room with bay view. ...More on Puerto Angel in the next post. 

So we're NOT going to San Pedro Pochutla then?

Interesting fact, tarmac is a remarkably effective sunblock. You may want to choose your method of application with greater care than I though. 

I really was pretty done in by the time I reached the bay, ...I think my face rather confirms that.

Day 27 - Oaxaca

I thought I'd take some time out to talk a little about Mexican cuisine. I think I have already gone on record as claiming it is all basically the same plate of food but with a slightly different method of presentation. I can now reveal that to be almost entirely true. Well true, but with a few minor qualifications. Everything comes with mole. I'm not going to make a joke about that, we all know what mole is. Actually, I have no idea what mole is actually made of, only that it is grey/brown and the Mexican version of pate. It goes on everything as a sort of undercoat for either chicken or pork with chilli's, the only three other ingredients available nationwide. And by everything, I mean tortillas. Yes yes, I know they give them different names, but it's all the same, flour dough squashed into a disk and then covered with mole. The only real variety there is in Mexico is what you do with your tortilla. You can deep fry it, or you can griddle it, or...... no, that's it. Either way, you can fold it into a little filled pasty, and deep fry or griddle that, or make 2 of them into a filled sandwich and deep fry or griddle that, or fill and roll one of them like a wrap and deep fry or griddle that.
So there you have it. Mexican cuisine. They tart it up around the edges to fill out a menu with little twists, like, add some (rubbish) cheese, some peppers maybe, corn is big over here, and I've mentioned grasshoppers already, but your rule of thumb is as I've described above. So if you've ever seen a larger Mexican person, that'll be a deep fried kinda guy, the slightly smaller (and I use that word to be kind) person will be a griddler.

Despite the above sounding a little dismissive, I should confess to very much enjoying deep fried things, and griddled things, and chicken and pork and chilli, in moderation. So I've not starved, but have had to take some care over the calories - and that is a pretty bold statement for me, I'm a proper dustbin if I get my eye in. So I've sought out some of the less obvious menu items for both the sake of variety and waistline.

Quick heads up - I'm moving on and have another torturous bus ride ahead, so no blog tomorrow unless a volcano explodes or something.

Your standard two's up tacos with nachos and dips. Normally red is dead, green is clean, right? Not in Mexico. Red is dead, green is dead. They like to keep things simple.

So crispy pork tostados turned out to be pork scratchings on toast - which I didn’t particularly mind - and probably should have guessed to be honest, but I had something a little more.... porky, and a little less.... skin-ey in my head when I ordered it. It did go well with my Corona though, I’ll give it that at least. I’ll give it that. 

Your deluxe meat feast compendium platter for one, the 'gut buster', and traditional Mexican starter 

Day 26 - Oaxaca

They do love a grasshopper over here you know. It’s on pretty much every menu as an accompaniment or side order. I had a few to sample at the market yesterday and I’ll be honest, I’m not sure they’re my thing. Not as a substitute to wings or fries or something anyway. They’re a bit gritty, and once through the outer shell, squidgy. It’s a bit like eating a sandy prawn, shell and all. Only it doesn’t taste as nice as prawn. ...Because it tastes like grasshopper. Anyway, they can’t seem to get enough of the stuff and I’m not judging. 

Most of yesterday was taken up with a hike to Monte Albán. It had occurred to give a little background on this place, so I will. It’s an Inca / Aztec city kind of thing - except it’s none of those things exactly, it was actually Zapotecs and latterly Mixtecs, but who the hell has heard of them? Certainly not me until I went there, but you get the idea. Lots of pyramidy stonework and places of sacrifice and ancient toilets. I liked it! A lot! 

There are dozens of folk willing to take you there from the centre of town in a minibus for about 6 quid, but as I have two legs and it was only 5km away, I decided to save my money. It was about 2km into the steep climb that I realised that Monte means mount, or indeed mountain. It was around the same time I realised why so many people were offering a lift to the top, and so many people were accepting the offer. I soldiered on. 

So I’m going to put Monte Albán down as a place I’d recommend. I wouldn’t get married there or anything, but I’d say if you haven’t been, knock yourselves out, and treat yourselves to a lift while you’re at it. Me and my poor blistered feet, wheezing lungs, and crampy legs might have done things differently had we known, but then again I had literally a wail of a time at full, out of tune volume while pounding the deserted tarmac with my earphones on, so that was a good thing to come out of it all. 

....for anyone desperate to know, West Coast Hair Metal on the way up, Scandi Glam on the way down. ...and I’d offer that as a general recipe for life. ..You’re welcome. 

I really don't have much by way of commentary on these pics, I mean I can tell you which was the slaughterhouse and which the toilet, but it won't enrich your lives all that much I don't think.