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.