San Cristobal de las Casas – Arriving in Town

After leaving the bus we walked up a colourful street bustling with a lively hum into the centre of town. The road was only wide enough for single traffic and deep curbs separated the pedestrians walking on narrow cobbled paths from motorised transport. The buildings all share similar architecture but contrasting brightly coloured facades separate them from each other. They are mainly one-story high and set-out in a grid where each block is 50 metres long or so. Every now and then this grid is broken up by an open plaza which sometimes houses a beautifully preserved and ornate church or bars and restaurants. This arrangement is set at about 2000m high in the mountains so the town has a privileged setting too; the low buildings allow an open and light feeling.

We'd unwittingly arrived during the last week of high season so we had to do some wondering before we found a hotel that I liked (Vanessa is much easier than I am in this respect and was ready to kill me). The buildings which lined the outside edge of each block boasted impressive courtyards and our hotel had a spectacular one. This affluent little town is as popular for Mexican holidaymakers as Westerners; there were a lot of wealthy looking Europeans who made this a part of their main summer break.

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After dumping bags in the hotel I stood under a powerful hot steaming shower, I truly felt on holiday and in a first world corner of Central America. This was only topped-off by the anticipation of dinner in one of the many restaurants in town. We ended up at a tiny taco bar that was brimming with locals; a sure sign that you're in a good place. We are on a fairly tight budget and with tacos from as little as 50cents each and with full dishes at around €5 we could eat heartily. The addition of real cheese and soft flour tacos makes such a difference from Guatemala.

The main square is a busy thoroughfare during the day. A place to get your shoes shined or pick up some chewing gum from the street vendors who wore wooden display racks around their necks; a bit like in old cinemas. The difference between rich and poor is very evident in Mexico, and a town like San Cristobal exacerbates this as the wealthy holiday and the poor street kids sell their wares. Such a stark contrast is unsettling and begs a lot of questions; I couldn't help feeling a little animosity to these bourgeoisie who seemed happy to openly flaunt their wealth in this 'showtown'. The next blog is dedicated to these street kids who often hung around these squares to sell woven bracelets or necklaces.

A note from the Author

Well, I haven't written for a while and I felt that that needed some explanation. As you can see from the piccie, taken on the Saturday 18^th, I look well.

This was on the way back from Santiago de Atitlan, a neighbouring town on the lake about 30 minutes ferry from San Pedro. However, I've had a bit of a sickie. Without going into gruesome detail I can tell you that I picked up a parasite called Giardia which causes the runs and fierce belly ache to boot. Soon after this happened I decided a good run was needed to clear my head. It was Independence Day here and the streets were full. So running along I didn't notice the speed bump in the road and stacked it spectacularly. I came out with some impressive war wounds and luckily just a sprained ankle which has been strapped up.

All appears to be subsiding and getting better. This has left an even bigger backlog of blog posts but I am going to get as many up as I can this week. The first set is going to be about San Cristobal; an impressive little town set in the mountains, in Chiapas, southern Mexico.

Sol Beer Ad

Ándale Ándale, Mexicoooooooo!

The ugly non-specific no man's land typical of border towns quickly changed into developed highways after a few kilometres into Mexico´s southernmost state of Chiapas. Our transport was no chicken bus either; this had been replaced by an air-conditioned minibus, first world in comparison. This was a god send as the temperature had soared to a very sticky 42 degrees known locally as the 'tierra caliente'; at least ten degrees warmer than our lakeside spot in Guatemala.

The faces began to change and the clothes too, we were dealing with a different economy here and although there were stereotypically dark skinned, ten gallon hatted hombres gathered underneath the shade offered by tarpaulin that hung from dark cantinas on dusty roads, there were also well dressed and well educated people; (and often whiter skinned) too. Among those in the minibus were a mother and her two daughters from one of the Northern states. The youngest girl had blonde hair extensions emerging from underneath her thick black bobbed hair. Although this was one of the worst hair-dos I´d ever seen (worse still than the mullets of Barcelona), it proved a level of economy which was further accentuated by the fashionable clothes and new trainers that all three brandished. A few kilometres further we stopped at a compulsory checkpoint. Alto Obligado! A customs official asked for passports and proceeded to ask these ladies (the only well-dressed Mexicans on board) where and what they had studied. As the mother answered that she had studied law at some university or other I was quite curious as to why this question had been asked and once we were waved through I asked her if this was normal. No, she had never been asked that before and her tone suggested that she had been a little insulted by this customs official. The world over customs officials are often officious pricks whose faces would crack if they attempted to smile. I understand that they have a serious job to do but the air of superiority with which they often do these is laughable. Although laughing at them is not a good idea, so I play it out in my head instead.

The military presence in Mexico is obvious. We passed quite a few military installations with their cold concrete walls and fortress like architecture in the few hundred kilometres that we travelled from the border. Outside the built-up cities I was surprised by some of the lush landscapes that unfolded quite unlike the dusty desert like Mexico that first comes to mind from misguided stereotypes. I had seriously undermined the size of the country too. After looking at the map when we arrived at our destination I realised that we had hardly dented the state, let alone the country.

We left the air-coned bus at Comitan and had a 15 minute break at a nondescript bus station in this city. It was far more developed than anything we'd seen for a while; petrol stations looked like they did back home with little shops selling all the same stuff; There was a 'Wallmart' and a 'Burger King'. We were hungry and were ready to sample our first Mexican food. A small taco stand seemed a good starting point and after asking the girls there what I should go for, I ordered four beef tacos. Meat is sold in small amounts in Mexico, not like the half a cow portions of Argentinean fame. So the tacos were served up in maize tortillas with a small amount of shredded beef inside (24 pesos – about €1.5). There was no sauce or dressing with them and at first I just saw a red bottle and a green one. I decided to put a line of each on either side of the take-away polystyrene tray. I then spotted the raw onion, tomato and herb mix on a table next to the stand. I put some of this in each tortilla and went back to the bus. As a rule green is generally hotter, and after trying the red sauce was physically scared of the green stuff. For those who know me and my love of 'picante' I was always going to try the green sauce … so it was for the next two hours that I felt I had inflated li-los for lips and a numb feeling from the neck up.

After this last leg we arrived at our destination, San Cristobal. This was a tourist destination, (just as much for Mexicans as for foreigners), nestled 2200 metres high in the mountains and unbeknownst to us we'd arrived in the last week of high season – bring it on!

The lack of photos is a representation of my concern at swinging around a fairly expensive camera in unknown territory. Of my experiences so far in Central America I am most alert and fearful when travelling and try and keep as low a profile as possible. The camera has a place at the bottom of the bag, and besides, you rarely get a decent photo on a moving bus. That being said I wish I could have got the shot of a Guatemalan bus that blocked oncoming traffic as it stretched diagonally across both lanes of a dual carriageway where a mudslide had occurred. We watched as the bus jolted and slid on completely bald tyres as it tried to manoeuvre out of the mud without falling down the sheer verge. It was a bit like the scene from 'The Italian job' with the gold bars … but the gold bars were children.

Going Global

My very own shoe shop!

Facebook is great for random contact from old friends. I particularly liked this photograph spotted by an old friend Bryan who is in Cambodia!

La Torre, 3828m (Todos Santos)

The locally brewed cinnamon flavoured coffee was the perfect kick start at 5.30 in the morning. It went down very well accompanied by a good chunk of dense sponge cake.

An early morning haze caused by the mist and cloud that hover at this altitude mellowed the early morning sunshine. Although I was a little jaded by the 7 hour journey the day before and a relatively late night, I was more than ready for a good trek, in fact, I was in my element. In the last few years I have really begun to appreciate trekking and after seeing some of the surrounding countryside on the way in to Todos Santos I was very excited to traipse across some first hand. I had no idea just how amazing the trek was going to be nor the diversity of landscape that Guatemala has to offer.

We caught one of the local buses that come between 4.30am and 7.30am. There is no rush in Guatemala; if you miss a bus another will roll up soon enough. There is no timetable or official company, the bus moves off when it's almost full. You don't need a ticket as the driver's right hand man will collect payment in transit. So we began our ascent in 'la Flor de Maria' chicken bus to the hamlet of La Ventosa, a 20 minute ride away. We were the only strangers on the bus as the locals piled in and exchanged warm greetings to each other in the Mayan dialect of 'Mam'; very different from the 'Tz'utujil' spoken around the lake Atitlan area. It sounds completely different from anything I've heard before with broken syllables, whispers and guttural sounds that a European tongue would have difficulty pronouncing. I felt like a giant packed into the bus full of little brown people and their special language, the experience intensified by the fairy tale mountains visible through the windows now dripping with condensation.

I had never seen a landscape like it; rugged and green, with moss covered outbreaks of rock and twisted trees that reminded me of olive trees from the Mediterranean. I was elated and thanked our guide, Liam, enthusiastically for bringing us here. The slope from La Ventosa was steep but well-trodden so it was easy to walk up although the altitude was making me short of breath. On our way we passed a local man collecting firewood. The Mam people are not known for their friendliness and are generally timid, especially those from the surrounding hamlets, and Liam our guide was surprised by the openness of this chap. He asked for a copy of the photo which we later sent to Liam – I hope he gets it!

After we climbed the first few hundred metres the path become less obvious and our surroundings turned into denser forest with more rock and formations the like of which I had not seen before. As we came across an outcrop of moss covered rocks I felt like I'd stepped through the wardrobe into Narnia, just without the snow.

From this quite magical point things just got better. I was miles away from man-made cities and literally entranced by the unfolding landscape. We came across a flat area that was wild and even stumbled upon some naturally forming quartz in amongst the grasses. It was here that we made friends with a roaming dog who became quite friendly after he woofed down a bit of cake. He decided he would come with us all the way, he even bought a mate along for a bit.

Upon reaching the peak at La Torre, the highest non volcanic point in Central America, we could see the cloud below whose drift from the mountains made it look like the plains were ablaze. The misty formations were now beginning to engulf us as we started our descent near a large ridge. Liam took us down via la Maseta and before we arrived there we passed trees covered in spaghetti like growths; this climate really produced some amazing natural growth. (See the blog entitled, 'High Altitude Flora and Fauna')

La Masetta has become more of a trodden path and the locals have actually made steps and a refuge hut. They are now going to begin to charge for those who pass. This saddens me as both the path and payment interrupt the natural course that this hike takes. I am sorry to say that this appears to be a project whose sole purpose is to get money from tourists. At our destination, the main road back to Todos Santos, we waited on a bend in the mountain road until someone passed who was willing to take us into town.

Some local men were clearing scrub from the side of the road, dressed in their colourful red stripes and colourful jackets. One of them approached us and my fear quickly dissolved as this very friendly man asked us where we were from; he boasted with some English he knew. He had lived in a community in Michigan, one of the pockets of Todos Santos' (illegal) immigrants in the USA.

Finally a truck stopped for us and the driver was really enthusiastic to learn about us too. These people are friendly and honest and once more I am led to believe that the real violence in Guatemala is in the city. Liam, thank you, this is one of the most amazing treks I have been on. Thank you also for your patience with my photography and our lack of breath at times!

Todos Santos Cuchumatan

The weekend before last we travelled to Todos Santos Cuchumatan, in the northwestern province of Huehuetenango.

The town is 1000 metres higher than San Juan la Laguna and is situated in the most beautiful mountains 3500 metres above sea level. The local 'Mam' language is the widest spoken Mayan dialect and the locals protect their sub culture fiercely; they still wear the traditional clothes in the district unlike in most other parts where many have 'Levi's' jeans and 'Abercrombie' T-shirts.

The town is poor and it's own agricultural industries do not go far to support the townsfolk. As a result there are now several communities of Todos Santos' illegal immigrants in the U.S. (it costs $5,000 to get smuggled across the border) and the local economy is driven by Western Union money transfers. There is always a queue outside the office. There are new properties being built as a result.

More to follow .... and pictures too!