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!

Blackie's New Home

I thought all you dog lovers out there would be pleased to know that we found a home for Blackie. He lives with Jeime, Denis, Arely and Lucas. They live next to the kid's dining room and are a great family, perfect for the little chap.

Old Wizened Face

I was taking some photos in San Pedro, where I work every afternoon, when I came across this old women sitting on the step of her house.


I asked if I could take a photo and afterwards she asked for some cash. I gave her a 1 quetzal note which she snatched from my hand as she grunted and raised her eyebrows in a look of disgust at the meagre amount that I gave her for this award winning photo!

Feed the World

It may seem strange that I have waited so long to write about the kid's dining room; to all intents and purposes the reason why we came. Vanessa volunteered four years ago with the Fundación Quetzal that founded this project. She felt realised and ever since wanted to come back, so here we are, this is what we do ...



The project feeds about 100 local children between two and twelve years old a day. The kids get their main lunchtime meal from Monday to Friday. As 60% of Guatemalans live below the poverty line there is a need; most of the kids come from families who live hand to mouth and have little choice to rise above this. Although more about this in later posts…


Most of the meals are served with rice, a staple part of the diet (sick of it!), and frijoles (black pinto beans) are often on the menu. I have had to cut back on these as we have had some severe gale warnings at home. Not good for gastritis. There is also meat and eggs in the diet at least twice a week and veg almost every day. 'Atol', a warm drink made from wheat germ is also on the daily menu. It's a horrid thick gloopy mess but the kids love it. Most importantly every meal comes with maize tortillas but alas, these are not the crispy tasty Western version, oh no, these are the humid dank tasteless type, mmm! Believe me almost everything is insipid (and I am not a fussy eater); our taste buds are going to explode when we get home. Could murder a juicy steak, oh my God … just mopping up my saliva!

Everyone must bring a clean plate, spoon and cup and show up with clean hands. Vanessa signs them in on the register and foods up! Apart from the usual suspects almost all of the kids are cool, polite and gracious. I wonder if you can spot the cheeky chaps?

Both Vanessa and I have fallen in love with Rene, perhaps the cutest faced kid in the world, his comedy value is priceless (First photo on the page & below). You can see him here in a few poses. He lives in our little street and always has a huge grin on his chops.

The smallest toddlers are accompanied by Mum, who also has to help out once every two weeks. The Mums are on a rota to come at 8am to help prepare the food. In theory there are five women a day but organising the locals is proving hard work. On average three actually come and we are working hard to get them to do their share but apathy prevails. The parents also pay a symbolic amount per month of 4Q, (40cents, that's less than buying one cheap snack in the street), which goes into a kitty for the kids on special days. We don't receive that very often either but less importance is attached to that than the help asked of the Mums. Some Mothers do work and send Granny or an elder sister instead which is no problem. All we try to do is provide a sustainable project as normally the Spanish presence is only felt in the months of July and August.

There is help from the local Nun but she has her misgivings about things. We have created a new visual calendar which places the mothers into twelve groups and clearly shows when they have to come ahead of time. This has been created entirely on card so that the simple system can be used when we are not here. Mothers still fail to turn up. We have had meetings and asked Mums to let us know if there are any days when they can't come and done everything to facilitate them.

Perhaps I could just show the cute photos and be less realistic but I'm trying to be objective. As lovely as they are the locals are taking advantage! When Paquita the founder of the project from BCN left last year there were as many as 200 hundred children eating daily – she has saintly status in the town! When we arrived there were only about 65 - reason being that there are projects in the area where the families receive more freebies (things like soap and shampoo). When Paquita comes, (which she has now done 10 years running), she brings clothes and toys from Spain. We have learnt that the numbers double just before she arrives and during her stay, and mysteriously drop as soon as she leaves. She is coming next week; we are starting to get new members … miraculous!

Kids are less tactful than adults. On my way back from work this evening one little chap who doesn't come to the project said, 'When is Paquita coming?'

'She should be here on Friday or Saturday' I replied.

'What's she bringing with her?' he grinned.

Bet ya fifty quid his Mum will sign him up this week.

I must add that there is a core element of Mothers and children who have a real need, come all year round and for the most part do their bit. Four local women also make up the directive who keep things ticking over when we are not here. They do get paid a small amount but face difficulties getting the mothers to do their share as the organisation requires. Obviously, our only intent is to make the project sustainable with local management (all funding comes from Sabadell, Barcelona) but I don't think that everyone sees it that way. All this being said, the project has outlived many others in San Juan and has filled many tummies.

Be interesting to see what happens when Paquita arrives … watch this space!

Southern Evangelists Day 2

The church's mission was threefold: to build new houses for widowed families in the Santa Clara area; to rotate the doctor's clinic in the towns surrounding the lake and supply medicines; and to entertain and teach the local children through activity and games.

Until the prayer that was said at breakfast in the morning the religious aspect of this group was unnoticeable. There was certainly no holy than thou attitude and I was met by very open and friendly people whose generosity was very apparent. A member was invited to pray in thanks for the breakfast (thank you guys that egg muffin was awesome, and the coffee very welcome too!) and the local pastor gave an impromptu sermon which was open as others were invited to partake.

Rain stopped play and the house building was put on hold – I secretly wanted to get some alpha male action and help with that – so instead we took the bus and a bus load of local kids to neighbouring San Pedro for a day of fun and games in the Ebenezer church.

Now can you imagine that some foreigners just come into town one day and take your kids off to the neighbouring town for the day? It would be both illegal and frowned upon and yet the local people here welcome it with open arms, literally. The hardest thing to do is to prize the kids of your limbs as they grip on tightly. The openness and lack of both fear and fear mongering are a far cry from our world back home.

After the morning of activity the guys went back to San Juan for lunch and returned to San Pedro to give out aid to the landslide victims who had suffered great loss in storm Agatha. Vanessa is pictured with a Jason Stackhouse lookalike, an actor in a vampire series on HBO.

For anyone from the churches who reads this, a big thank you for inviting us to join you and appreciate the good work you have done and no doubt will keep doing!

Southern Evangelists ya’ all – Day 1

'So how long 'ya all been here?'

I looked over my shoulder to see if more people had been included in this question. Nope. Ah yes, the question when applied with the southern drool means, 'How long have you (singular) been here?' Vanessa was asked similar questions and when her completely blank expressions mirrored those of the questioner I realised that I could have some real fun with my purposefully not completely accurate interpreter's hat on.

Sorry guys, I couldn't resist a bit of English leg pulling. Last week we met the finest group of people representing three churches from Tennessee and North Carolina.

News on the grapevine in San Juan was that some gringo doctors were in town and my curiosity was piqued as various neighbouring families walked past our house down to the dry bed river and up the slope to one of the many Evangelical churches in these parts. This coupled with my usual dose of hypochondria, (I had a red lesion on my cheek and after all of the intense sun we had been having I wanted to put my mind at rest), was good reason to go to the Shalom Evangelist church after lunch and see if I could talk to one of the doctors there. It had started to rain heavily mid-morning as storm Alex was still persisting (although definitely on the wane), so I had to dodge puddles and streams and go the long way through the town as the normally dry river bed was a treacherous muddy torrent once again.

Inside the colourful church there was activity as tables had been arranged to form a small clinic. I spoke to one of the American ladies who led me to the doctor from Guatemala City. Both his manner and thick rimmed black spectacles definitely gave him the air of 'doctor' and after inspecting my cheek and giving me some ointment I asked doc if I could take his photo for the blog. As this was the week of the San Juan festivities I wasn't working and the kid's dining room was closed too. I decided to volunteer my services and asked if I could help in any way.

I was introduced to Ken Klein, 'as in Calvin Klein' a larger than life pastor from North Carolina. I asked him if he had his own range of underwear and he promptly told me that he had this and a line of his and hers fragrances. We chatted and he suggested that we meet for breakfast at 7am the next morning in the church. I met Don, also from North Carolina and as we fell naturally into conversation I felt at home talking to someone closer to my own culture. I think that after 6 weeks here I needed a bit of 'Gringoship' and I loved the accents that up until now I'd only heard on TV. Interestingly, we both commented on the odd western travellers that came into town and barely said hello or ignored you completely. I think it must be a fear thing.

Para Jessica & Xavi

Ok folks, this is a special page dedicated to Jessica (my sister-in-law) and Xavi who are getting married tomorrow in Barcelona! It's written in Spanish just for them so get Google translator on if you can't understand it. We went swimming today at the lake and the photos represent throwing yourself headlong into life. So a big heads up for Jessica and Xavi, lots of love and all the best for tomorrow and beyond …

Jessi y Xavi, ya que no podemos estar con vosotros el día de vuestra boda, queríamos dedicar una página del blog solo a vosotros. Esta mañana fuimos a nadar en el lago y tomar el sol, después de 6 días de lluvia y hemos seleccionado 3 fotos para demostrar como tenéis que tirar adelante, sin miedo y con buen humor.

Aunque no estaremos con vosotros físicamente esperamos que sintáis las vibraciones que estamos enviando, toda nuestra energía esta puesta en vosotros y en vuestro día. Sabemos sin duda que sois una pareja ideal y la conclusión lógica a los años pasados es seguirlos con muchos más años de MATRIMONIO, como marido y mujer (Que fuerte no!!!!). Se supone que no tiene que cambiar mucho más que un apellido, pero dicen que cambia todo.

A Dave no le gustan los trajes y las corbatas pero se pondrá algo especial mañana para hacer que el día sea algo diferente y que las vibraciones sean aún más fuertes. Aun a pesar de las horas de diferencia, brindaremos con el té, recién levantados ya que a esa hora ya serás una mujer casada querida hermanita…

Muy buena suerte!!!! Y muchisimo amor!

Little Brother ‘Alex’ is knocking at the door

Agatha's little brother Alex came out to play today.

He tapped on the window and on the door and on the tin roof but luckily he didn't make it inside. Alex was no match for his big sister and her heavy handedness. He was an insistent little bugger though and he kept tapping through the night and through the day and his persistence was annoying.

The best course of action is to stay inside and make little trips to the shop with a raincoat and umbrella and avoid soaked feet with hops, skips and jumps. Oh, and making sure you have a decent supply of tea. Then just sit back, relax and let the tropical storm pass. So this is our second hurricane and although we are not in the storm's most devastating path we are close enough to witness four days of searing rain with cloud misted skies and damp; everything is damp. Even the table salt has become a mass. It's perhaps not like you would imagine. Hollywood and the news sensationalise storms and before I came here I imagined that tropical storms suddenly strode in and whisked whole houses into the beyond or terrifying floods that came out of nowhere to wash whole villages away.

On the news you are shown the worst devastation without any of the build-up. To give some perspective, Agatha unleashed an incredibly heavy downpour that started much like most days during rainy season. She just didn't let up for four days. This amount of rain makes the ground soften until anything on a slope could unexpectedly just slide away. When this happens sometimes whole sections of the vegetation on the mountain fall into the beyond. The noise, amplified in the valley by the rock that surrounds 300 of the 360 degrees, is like a child's box of lego being emptied onto the floor, only ten times louder. With multiple landslides the water masses into a muddy torrent that carries trees, rocks and anything else that gets in its path, including houses down to the lake below. The build-up is gradual and the town is left fairly unscathed but the street that is under water is the one that makes it in the newspaper and the houses devastated are those on the evening news.

Right now Alex's persistence has entered day five and I am drinking a very good local tea called 'Te Chirrepeco.' It comes in a little red and yellow box a little more elongated than a matchbox and costs 1Q (Quetzal), about 10cents. It has a honey scent when it's brewing and its mellow enough to drink without milk. Lovely. As I mentioned before it's the perfect accompaniment to these damp days.

I am writing this from my study with a view of the 'Cara del Indio' (The Indian's face). This is the peak of one of the mountains which follows the contours of an Indian chieftain's profile. The mountain is very close and is so high that it takes up about 80 per cent of the view. It's not clear today as there is a white mist that has also completely obscured it during Alex's outburst. In someone else's writing this area was described as 'the place where clouds were born.' We are 1600 metres above sea level here (same as Boulder, Colorado) which is high enough for our red blood cells to expand so they become more efficient with the lack of oxygen found at sea level.
I'll be running faster when I get back to Barcelona!!

The ‘Erb

For all those of you who like the great outdoors, you'll appreciate this post. Now in terms of integrating we are doing pretty well and we went a step close after heading into the mountain forest to pick some 'Chipolin'; a local herb used to flavour soups and stews - also renowned to cure nasty mouth ulcers when made into a tea. My task was to pick the leaves and hand them to Vanessa for washing and cooking! Vanessa brandishes a wiskil, a local veg which is damned good, a bit like a spud but tastier!

Hatchet ‘arry

Now where my little friends the machete brothers are not up to the task I call on the mother of all axes; Hatchet Harry of 'Lock Stock…' fame would be proud. I had to chop some wood for the fire after going for my run. I call it the natural gym workout, was sweating like a pig and feeling very alpha male. Love it!

We had a couple of beers last night and this was a great way to sweat out some toxins! And yes I have lost a few pounds!!